Impossible
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: When a stranger asks to meet Julie at a coffee shop, his secret could tear apart the lives of the Taylors.
1. Genealogical Research

**Author's Note:** An earlier version of this story was removed from the archives some years ago. This is a new version, revised, edited, and expanded, with additional chapters.

 **[*]**

Matt's blue-green eyes were clouded with concern. "Genealogical research?" he asked.

"That's what he said," Julie answered. She put her chin on her hands, which were folded on his bare chest.

Matt stared at the high ceiling of the loft. The moonlight hit some of his drawings on the opposite wall. The fan turned in rhythmic motion, letting a cool breeze fall on them. It was the height of July, and it was hot, but they couldn't afford air conditioning. They slept naked these days, and that was fine by Matt, for obvious reasons.

"And he wouldn't say how he thought he was related to you?" he asked.

"No, he said he wanted to talk to me in person. But he had all these details – he knew the name of my dad, where my parents lived two years before I was born - and he said he knew about some relatives I didn't know about, and that I might be interested."

"Sounds a little…suspect."

"You think he's some stalker dude?" She kissed his chest.

"Could be."

"But I'm totally curious."

"Well I'm totally suspicious." He rolled onto his side and she rolled with him. He kissed her. "I'll let you meet him – "

" _Let_ me?" She pulled back.

"Julie – "

" _Let_ me," she repeated. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"As of last month? Your husband."

The wedding had been small and had gone fairly smoothly, except the awkwardness of all that sniffling of the mother of the bride, and then the father of the bride getting slightly drunk at the reception and being a little too publicly affectionate with his wife on the dance floor.

Julie threw herself on her back and grunted. "So this is what happens when you get married, huh? Suddenly you're all Mr. Possessive. Mr. Macho Protective – "

"Shut up," said Matt, propping himself up on his elbow. He kissed her until she was at least smiling. "You want someone who _doesn't_ look out for you? Someone who _doesn't_ care if you meet creepy stalker guy who knows too much about your family?"

"No. But you _could_ consider your word choice next time."

"Noted." He snuck an arm around her. "You can meet him, but I'm coming with you."

"I _can_ meet him? I _can?_ Was that your idea of better word choice?"

"You told me last week you like that I've gotten more self-confident since selling those pieces." His tongue protruded between his lips, unintentionally, with his smile. "You _like_ my swagger."

She laughed. "Yeah, confident can be sexy," she said, "but, look, I wanted you to come with me anyway. That's why I was telling you about it. I was going to ask you to come with me. I'm not stupid you know."

"Then what's with the whining?"

"I _wanted_ to ask you to come. I didn't want you to _tell_ me I _had_ to _let_ you come." He smiled, the half smile, the one she loved, the curve, the dimple.

"I'm sorry." He slid a knee in between her legs and spread them a little apart. "So ask."

"Will you come with me? You know, since it's my idea and all."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll come." He shifted on top of her. His lips were on hers, and - soon enough - her legs were wrapped around him, and Mr. Potential Creepy Stalker Guy was long forgotten.

 **[*]**

The next morning Matt took off work and accompanied Julie to the coffee shop, where she was approached by the young man who had contacted her about his genealogical research. He'd found her on Facebook and sent her a message.

"Are you Julie Taylor?" he asked as he approached. Matt thought he looked to be about his own age, give or take a year or two, but he was dressed like he was a businessman with a twenty-year career behind him. He had on a dark suit and a dark red tie and very well shined shoes. Matt judged him to be about two inches taller than himself, and no less muscular. The guy's medium brown hair curled slightly in the back just above his neck. It was thick hair, and a little unruly. His eyes were a nice shade of brown, not that Matt noticed dude's eyes, he certainly didn't, he couldn't tell you what color Landry's eyes were if you asked him, it was just that this guy's eyes were almost the same shade as Julie's, and Matt had spent a lot of time gazing into that color.

"I'm Nathan," the guy said. "Nate." He sounded a little nervous. He glanced at Matt, who maintained a rigid, protective pose. Then he looked back at Julie. "You _are_ Julie Taylor?"

"Yes," Julie said. It was almost a whisper. She was clearly nervous too.

"Julie Saracen," Matt said, his eyes holding Nate's closely.

"I _was_ Julie Taylor," she clarified, "before I got married. This is my husband Matt."

Nate extended his hand, and Matt shook it cautiously. Nate held a hand toward the chair. "May I?"

If Matt wasn't suspicious before, he was now. Who in his generation said, "May I?" before sitting in a chair?

When Julie nodded Nate sat down.

"So where's your genealogical research?" Matt asked. The guy didn't have anything with him. No folder. Not even a briefcase, despite the suit.

Nate rested his fingertips on the table. "I didn't really do any genealogical research per se."

Matt tensed. _Liar._ He knew it.

"It's just that my mother died recently –"

"- Oh, I'm so sorry," Julie said. Instinctive sympathy, Matt thought. He himself remained silent and suspicious.

"Thanks," Nate said. "Cancer. Anyway, before she died, she decided to tell me some things. Like where I came from."

A puff of air escaped Matt's nostrils. "Wow. I got the birds and the bees conversation when I was nine."

"Ha ha ha." Nate flashed a row of even, white teeth. His laugh reminded Matt of the way Coach Taylor laughed when he was just a little ticked off. "I mean," Nate said, "my mother was a single mom my whole life, and she had told me my father died. But on her death bed, she said that my dad is actually still alive. She told me his name and where they met and what she thought happened to him, and I did some research, and I couldn't find any contact information for him, but I found you," he looked at Julie "and I hoped you'd give me his number. I didn't want to tell you all this in a Facebook message. It seemed…too much. So I asked you to meet me here."

What he said next had Julie shaking her head and saying, "No, it can't be. It can't be. You've made a mistake. It must have been another Eric Taylor. Taylor's a common name. So's Eric. It must be some other Eric Taylor."

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure you're my younger half-sister," Nate told her.

She just kept shaking her head. "No, see, my dad would have already been married when your mom got pregnant…so, it's not possible."

"Well," Nate said. "It's _possible_. My mom wasn't on birth control. She _told_ him she was. And it was a brief fling. And she didn't tell him about me, so I can't really blame him for not knowing I existed."

"No. My dad can't possibly be your dad."

"Well, he _can_ be."

"I _just_ told you," Julie said, her hands gripping the sides of the table tensely, "I _just_ told you - he was _already_ married to my mom at that time. So you must have the wrong Eric Taylor."

When Nate began to spell out to her how it was still possible, she shouted, "No!"

A dozen faces turned and looked at their table. Matt reached out and grabbed Julie's hand and told Nate to go. " _Now._ "

Nate slid a business card across the table to Julie. From a glance, Matt saw that it had only his contact information and the word _Investments_. "Sorry I upset you," Nate said. "I'd like to meet him. Think about giving me his number. Please call me later." Nate stood and left the café.

Matt led a numb Julie back to the loft, and it wasn't until the front door was closed that she spoke again. "Lying piece of shit! What do you think he really wanted?"

Matt put a hand on both of her shoulders. "Julie, maybe he's telling the truth. He looks a lot like your dad."

"- NO! My dad would have already been married when that guy's mom got pregnant. So it isn't possible."

"It's possible…" Matt swallowed. He had to say this to her, didn't he? She wasn't going to hear it if it didn't come from him. "It's possible if he had an affair."

"Well that's not possible," she spat, and jerked away from him and sat at a stool by the kitchen bar. She quivered. Tears were in her eyes. "It's just not possible."

Matt came close and put a hand gently on her back and rubbed lightly. "He looked a lot like your dad, Julie. A _lot_. _"_

"No…no…no…" She wasn't yelling it anymore, she was sobbing it. "It can't be. He couldn't have had an affair. He _couldn't_ have. If _he_ could… _anyone_ could… _you_ could…"

"I won't."

"No." It was a whisper this time. Her lip was sucked under her teeth. "No. Not my dad. No." Matt drew her into his arms and held her close. After a while, he carried her to bed, and they curled up on top of the still rumpled sheets, where he held her until she had cried herself to sleep.


	2. Revelation

Matt didn't know how long Julie would nap. The emotion had wiped her out. When she was snoring slightly, in that cute, soft, consistent way of hers, he slid his arms away, went out on the balcony, and pulled out his cell phone.

He rarely talked to his father-in-law on the phone. Neither of them were phone talkers, and conversation could be awkward enough between them in person. Matt was a married man now with a steady job and his own place, yet he still couldn't help but be extremely conscious, every time he was around Coach Taylor, that he was sleeping with the coach's daughter, and the coach knew it and didn't like it.

Coach Taylor had not been harsh since his initial, knee-jerk reaction to the engagement. Matt wondered how much of that explosion had been due to stress, because Coach Taylor seemed a lot more relaxed since settling in Philadelphia. But even though his father-in-law was polite and good-natured toward him most of the time these days, it was just weird, somehow. Matt never felt fully comfortable with him, never had since he'd first taken Julie's virginity.

Matt looked at his contacts and felt his chest tighten with something that wasn't at all nervousness. It was anger. It was fast becoming rage. He couldn't believe it either. Not Coach. Not the man so many players had looked up to over the years. Not the man whose approval – even if he pretended not to – Matt longed for. Not the man who had kept that sign up in the locker room – that sign that said, "Character is who you are when no one's watching."

Matt had to know. He dialed. The phone rang so loudly. Louder than the traffic in the Chicago street below. Louder even than the heart that was hammering in his chest.

"Hey, Matt," came Coach Taylor's voice. "You want to talk to Mrs. Taylor?"

Of course Coach assumed Matt didn't want to talk to him. When had he ever called Coach just to call Coach? Of course, it wasn't as if he called his mother-in-law either.

"No," Matt managed. "You."

"Uh…a'ight. What can I do you for?"

Matt dug his hand in his jean pocket, just to dig somewhere.

"Matt?"

"Yeah. I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

Matt took his hand out and ran it over his tight cut hair, just to run it somewhere. He took a deep breath and willed himself to ask the question.

"Matt?" Coach Taylor asked again.

"A while ago," Matt managed finally, "like sometime within the first year you were married…did you... did you cheat on Mrs. Taylor?"

Silence. Matt closed his eyes. His father-in-law's voice was hard, tight, and – what? - angry? "Why are you asking me this?"

"Did you?"

"Matt, why are you asking me this?"

"Just answer the question!" Matt couldn't believe he'd shouted it so loud, but there it was. Cars honked in the street below and he felt a little self-conscious, even though no one passing on the street could hear him from this height and the sliding glass door was closed.

"I'll answer the question," Coach Taylor said deliberately, "when you tell me why you're asking it."

"Someone contacted Julie. Someone who had reason to believe you might have had an affair at about that time."

"Who said that?"

"So I take it the answer's yes," Matt said. "You had an affair."

Silence.

"Coach? You did, didn't you?"

"How's Julie?"

"Not well," Matt answered. "She cried herself to sleep a minute ago."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone, like a hiss.

The usual stutter Matt had when talking to Coach Taylor vanished. "I think the question you should really be worried about is how Mrs. Taylor is going to take it."

"Mrs. Taylor already knows." Coach Taylor fell abruptly silent, like maybe he'd just realized he'd made an admission he hadn't meant to make. "Listen, that was a long, long time ago. This isn't your business."

"My wife is curled in a ball on a bed with sheets that are soaking wet with her tears. So it damn well is my business now!" Matt had asserted himself with Coach Taylor once or twice over the years, but he'd never spoken to him like this. He was too mad to be worried about the man's reaction.

From the other end of the line came that particular sigh Matt had heard Coach Taylor make sometimes in his office, when he was just plain overwhelmed with all the crap that came along with football that had nothing to do with football.

"I…listen," Coach Taylor said. "We hit a rough spot our first year. No one taught us anything about marriage. And we just didn't know how to handle anything. We were fighting, and she left me and moved in with her sister. I thought she was going to divorce me. She was gone, and there was this woman who made me feel like I was still worth something even if my wife didn't think so anymore. I took comfort in the wrong place."

"How long did you _take comfort_ in the wrong place?" Matt could barely get the question out from between his clenched teeth.

"Not long. Tami…Mrs. Taylor…called and said she was coming home, so I ended it right away. I told her the truth. Listen, we worked this out. That was a _long_ time ago. I've been faithful _ever_ since. Do you think Julie's going to be okay?"

"I don't know. Do you even know you have a son?"

"What?"

"Nate. His name's Nate."

Silence. The silence was so long, Matt checked his phone to make sure the battery hadn't gone dead. "Coach?"

"We worked through all this," Coach Taylor muttered. "…so long ago…I love her so much… " What Matt heard on the other end wasn't a sigh. It was more like the shortness of breath that comes from anxiety. "A son? Are you sure?"

"His mother told him your name, when she'd met you, where…he looks like you. A lot."

"I don't see how…she said she was –"

"Well, she wasn't," Matt said. "Nate said she lied about being on birth control."

"We never spoke again after I broke it off. She never told me…Are you sure?"

"Timing's right," Matt said. "He looks like you. He knew your name, where you lived before Julie was born. He asked for your number. We didn't' give it to him, but we have his."

The glass door opened. Julie stood there, arms across her chest. A flash of anger surged through Matt again. How could Coach Taylor do this to his own daughter? Matt blamed him for the dried up tears on her cheeks, the taut muscles in her face.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked.

"No one," Matt said, and clicked off the phone and took her into his arms.

They went back and cuddled in bed. Julie didn't say anything for a long time. She just clung to him, until finally, softly – "He did look a lot like my dad. In the face, you know. And his…laugh. His facial expressions. He doesn't have my dad's eyes but…"

"…They're yours."

"Yeah," she admitted.

Matt held her a little closer.

"How could he?" she asked.

Matt couldn't hold her closer so he kissed her head instead.

"Do you think they'll get divorced, my parents, when my mom finds out?"

"Maybe she already knows. It would have been a long time ago."

"Then why would she have seemed so happy all these years? Not just happy. In love. I just don't understand, Matt. If _he_ could do that…if _my_ dad could do that…"

Matt sat up and pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against his chest. "I will _never_ cheat on you. You understand that? Never. I won't ever hurt you like that." He kissed her, long and tenderly. "Do you believe me?"

"I believe you, I just…I never believed it was possible my dad could…"

"I know." He hadn't believed it was possible either. Matt didn't want to tell her about his conversation with Coach, but he thought he should. Maybe it would at least reassure her to know her mom knew and that they'd already worked it out over two decades ago.

He told her.

It didn't reassure her.

"That just doesn't seem like my mom, you know," she said. "Running out on him and moving in with Aunt Shelley just because they were fighting. Storming off like that. She's so much more reasonable than that. She always wants to talk things through!"

"People change." Matt knew it was possible to run out even on someone you loved. Possible to run out and only realize later how childish, how unkind you'd been.

"And then…just taking him back?" Julie asked. "Why would she just take him back and then get pregnant with me like a year after? Nate can't be more than two years older than me." Julie's face contorted. It was clear she was trying to stop the returning tears, but she couldn't. She just couldn't, and, at the moment, Matt hated Coach Taylor – hated him.


	3. Telling Tami

When Tami got home from work, she was tired. Her first year at Braemore had seemed like a dream. Her ideas were respected and valued. She'd made important changes and received cooperation from the administration, but, during her second year, reality set in. Opposition arose. She had felt like she was swimming against a tide. This year was no different, and today she'd been in a challenging meeting with the new provost, who didn't like that Tami was insisting the university grant 25% more interviews before making final decisions.

So when she came through the door, she hoped Eric was ready to put dinner on the table. He typically was, January through July. In mid-August through December, however, when football season was underway, she made several meals a week ahead of time and froze them. They heated them up when they got home, often not eating until 8 PM, which was way too late for Gracie, who was fed earlier by the babysitter.

When she came inside, the house was eerily quiet. There was no sign of Gracie. Tami kicked off her high heels and set down her briefcase by the new leather couch. She made her way to the dining room. Dinner was already _on_ the table. And wine.

Eric embraced her the moment she stepped through the entryway. "I love you, Tami," he murmured in her ear. "You mean the world to me. I want you to know that." He kissed her, deeply, and then hugged her more tightly. He didn't let go.

"Sugar, you're crushing me a little bit."

"Sorry," he muttered and finally released her. He nodded to the two plates on the table. "I got that bacon wrapped asparagus you like, from that fancy grocery store. And I grilled up some chicken. I got that Chardonnay you love."

"It looks great," she said, simultaneously pleased by and suspicious of his generous display of affection, "but where's Gracie?"

"She's spending the night at Piper's."

Gracie had become fast friends with a girl in her school last year. They'd had their very first sleepover in June, at the Taylors' house. It hadn't gone well. Tami had taken a crying Piper home at 1 AM. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It gives us some time alone together. I love spending time with you. I love you."

"I love you too," she said with a shake of her head and a befuddled smile. He pulled out her chair for her. "Very sweet of you," she said as she sat down.

Tami was hungry, so she wolfed down her food before she asked him, bluntly, "Why are you behaving so strangely?"

"It's not strange that I love you, Tami. You're the best wife a man could ask for."

"Eric, what's going on?" Her husband was an affectionate man, and not a day went by when he didn't tell her he loved her, but this was over the top. This was beyond even his seduction process at the six-week mark after Gracie was born. Besides, they'd just had sex last night.

Eric didn't answer right away. "Let me clean up first." He cleared the dishes to the kitchen.

Tami sat in the dining room and listened to the water woosh on. The dishes were her job when he cooked, but she let him do them now. She contemplated the china on the hutch while she waited for him to return.

He took the chair nearest to her and refilled her wine glass. When she reached for it, he snatched her hand and held it tightly in his own on the table. He looked like he was about to vomit, or maybe cry. "We have to talk."

His tone was deathly serious when he spoke those words, and Tami's emotional state morphed from befuddled to afraid. Had something happened to Gracie? Was the girl not really at Piper's? Was Julie okay? Had he gotten bad news from his doctor? Had he lost his job? What the hell had happened?

He swallowed. "I learned something today, and I have to tell you about it. And I'm so sorry, Tami. I love you so much, and I want you to love me."

"Eric, babe, whatever it is," she said, freeing her hand from his and placing it on his cheek, "I love you, hon. You know that."

"Do you?"

"You know I do."

"This is going to remind you of a time when you didn't." He bit his bottom lip. He looked away from her.

"What?" she asked.

"I think I have a son. From...that time when I...I think I have a son."

Tami closed her eyes, and the old wound that had slowly healed, that had been scabbed over with years and years of happy marriage, began to bleed.

[*]

Julie studied Nate's business card, which she'd set next to her breakfast plate.

"Are you going to give his number to your dad?" Matt asked as he stood from the table and put his plate in the tiny kitchen sink.

"I can't even talk to my father," Julie said. "I'm so angry with him."

Matt poured himself a travel mug of coffee. He'd recently received a promotion at the gallery, and he was eager to get to work a little early to show his gratitude. With two years of savings, they might be able to get out of this crowded loft apartment. If only he could manage to sell more of his own art, he thought.

"But..." Julie said, "I was thinking of meeting with Nate again. If he's still in town." Nate lived in Maryland, near D.C., and had been in Chicago on business, as well as to meet with Julie. " I have so many questions."

"Wouldn't you have better luck getting those questions answered if you just talked to your parents?"

"I can't right now," Julie insisted. "If Nate's still in town, I might see if I can meet him after my Media Ethics class."

"Do you want me to call in sick and come with you?" He didn't want to, not just after he'd gotten a promotion, but if Julie needed him...

"No," Julie said. "I think I need to do this myself."

Matt came and put a hand on her shoulder where she sat. "You're sure?"

She nodded and looked up at him, and he leaned down and kissed her. "You know you're going to have to see your dad when we fly to Philadelphia for Gracie's birthday .next weekend." The Taylors had bought the plane tickets for them a month ago. It wasn't just about Gracie; they were due for a visit. They hadn't seen each other since Christmas.

"Maybe we shouldn't go," Julie said. "I don't know if I can face him."

"Your mom might need you right now, though," he suggested softly.

She nodded. He hated leaving her there, like that, staring into her coffee cup. He kissed her cheek gently and whispered he loved her before heading off to work. "Call me if you need me," he said before he shut the front door.

[*]

Eric rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes as he exited the guest bedroom. He'd slept maybe three hours last night. The guest bed was too soft, and it was weird, laying all the way to one side, without his wife taking up the empty space on the other.

He made his way to the kitchen. He had a coach's meeting this morning, and then he'd pick up Gracie from Piper's and take her to the pool. He didn't need to teach summer school here, or pick up extra cash with private coaching. Tami made 2.5 times what she'd been making as a guidance counselor at East Dillon. So he stayed home in the summer, except for training. Summers as Mr. Mom had been interesting.

In the kitchen, Tami was dressed for work. She looked gorgeous, in a flattering white blouse, sexy high heels, and a black skirt that fell to her knees and then revealed her shapely legs. He wanted desperately to make love to her, not in some lustful way, but for the reassurance that she loved him. "Mornin'," he drawled. "You get any sleep?"

"Some," she said.

He could see the rings under her eyes, the blotchiness not fully hidden by make-up, the evidence of a night spent crying. He longed to enfold her in his arms, to draw her to himself, but he'd learned, after the affair, that it didn't help to hold her. Holding her made the hurt morph into anger.

Last night, he'd asked her what she needed him to do. "Give me some space," she'd said. "Just for awhile. Sleep in the guest bedroom." He'd felt his heart seize in on itself, fear crushing its walls, but he'd taken up his pillow - he didn't like the ones in the guest bedroom - and left her alone in their bed.

"How long do you want me in the guest bedroom?" he asked now.

"I don't know," she said. "Not forever. A couple weeks, maybe."

He swallowed. "That long?"

"Eric, I hadn't thought about it at all in a very long time. And now I keep seeing you with her."

"Tami, I don't even remember what she looked like."

Tami slammed her coffee cup down on the counter. That had been the wrong thing to say, he realized. The counselor had told him not to say anything, all those years ago, in those months when they were healing. Just to listen to her, and not say anything. "There's nothing you can say," the counselor warned him, "that won't make her angry. You have to be patient. You have to listen, and you have to be willing to bear her anger. Whatever she needs you to do, you need to do it."

But that was so long ago. They'd worked so hard. And they'd had such a beautiful marriage. He hated the pain in her eyes, but most of all he hated that he was the cause of it. The guilt crawled like scrambling claws across his stomach. "I'm sorry," he said.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her hand around the handle of the coffee cup again. "So am I," she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Eric, I know you've been a faithful husband for over two decades. And I know what part I played in it. But I can't help the way I feel right now."

"I know," he said softly.

"I'm not always going to feel like this," she reassured him. She took a step forward and kissed his cheek lightly, but then she said, "I think I'm going to be working late tonight. Don't make me dinner."

"I love you," he whispered as she slipped away, but either she didn't hear, or she didn't feel like saying it back.


	4. Asking Questions

It was 10:30 AM when Julie spilled out of her Media Ethics class and caught the bus to the cafe to meet her half-brother. Half-brother. His very existence still seemed an impossibility to her.

Julie didn't want to like Nate. She wanted to hate him. She wanted him to somehow be the innocent scapegoat for all this turmoil that was gnawing her gut to pieces. He dressed the sheer alpha male, all business from head to toe, and he'd pulled up to cafe in a bright red sports car, so she thought it shouldn't be too hard to despise him. But, once they got talking, he was surprisingly unassuming. He seemed to have the gentleness of someone like Matt, the intelligence of a Landry, and the wry sense of humor of a Tyra.

Nate told her that he had grown up in Maryland. "My mom moved there before I was born, because she had a brother and a sister there who had families of their own." His aunts and uncles had helped to raise him, and his mother had worked her way from teaching to administration, until she was an assistant superintendent for the entire school district.

"You didn't have a dad?" Julie asked. Then she winced to think who his biological father was. "A stepdad, I mean?"

He shook his head. "She never got married."

Nate told Julie his mom used to leave the radio on in the house all the time when he was a kid, tuned to talk radio, and he would listen to this investment show droning on in the background. He devoured books on finance and invested his lawn mowing money. His mother let him take over her investments. When he was 18, his uncle hired him to work at his insurance agency so he could sponsor him to take some kind of financial exams, series something or another - Julie didn't follow all the details. Now, Nate was in business for himself.

"And you never went to college?" Julie asked. She hadn't yet finished her dual English and Journalism degree. She was working 25 hours a week, as a proofreader for the Chicago Sun-Times, and going to school part-time. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her degree, once she had it, but she knew she wanted to earn more than the $9.75 an hour she was earning now, and that she wanted to do something more interesting than inserting semicolons and crossing out unnecessary commas.

"No," Nate said, "But I sure took a lot of exams."

"So..." She glanced out the cafe window to where he had parked his car. "Are you, like, rich?"

"I'm not hurting for money," he said with a smile.

"You don't rip people off do you? You're not a hedge fund manager, are you?"

"I invest people's money for them and then take one percent of whatever I make for them. If they don't make money, I don't make money.

Julie poured another cream to cool her piping hot coffee. This was her second cup. "Who would trust a 23 year old with their money?"

"I started with people who knew me and saw what I had done for myself and my mom. I told her to get out before 2008, and I told her to buy again when the market bottomed out in 2009. She made a very impressive return over the next few years."

"And you inherited it?"

He cringed, and Julie regretted reminding him of his mother's recent death. "Yeah," he said, "but I'd already made a lot more on my own than I inherited. I started with my uncles and aunts and cousins as clients, but then they started referring me to their friends, who started referring me to their friends, and well...soon enough, I had all the clients I could want, including some with huge portfolios."

Julie wanted to ask just how much he had made, but she restrained herself. "So you're a financial guru. Was your mom a genius or something?"

"Why? Your dad isn't?"

Julie laughed. "Not by a long shot." Then her lips grew tight and a pain twisted her heart. She'd felt a moment of teasing affection for her father when she'd said those words, before she was reminded why Nate was here, sitting across from her. She was reminded of the awful thing her father had done.

"I'm sorry," Nate said softly when he saw her expression. "I know this must be weird for you."

It was beyond weird. It hurt.

"Have you talked to him?" Nate asked. "Your - our - father?"

She didn't like the way he kept saying our. "Not yet. I can't." She wrote a number on a napkin and slid it across the table to him. "But here's his cell phone number, if you want to."

Nate took hold of the napkin and stared at the number. "I know so little about him. I did some research. I found an article about him, in a sports magazine. I guess he is - or was - a really good football coach."

"Yeah," Julie muttered. "He still coaches." He was a good coach, even if he wasn't a good husband.

"I tried to see if I could connect with him on Facebook," Nate said, "but I couldn't find an account for him. Contacted a few Eric Taylors, but none were him."

"Yeah, my dad doesn't do social media."

"But you were mentioned in the article, and I was able to find you."

Julie shook her head. "I just don't understand this. How much did your mom tell you? How did they even meet?"

"My mom and your dad - our dad - worked together at the same school. He was my mom's student teacher."

Julie swallowed her coffee hard. It burned going down. This was even worse than she had thought. Was it some kind of Mrs. Robinson thing? Nate's mom had recently died of cancer. Cancer wasn't something that usually took out people her father's age, was it? "How _old_ was she?"

"She wasn't old! She was only 24."

"Oh," Julie said, but the relief was only as if someone had removed the smallest weight from an enormously heavy barbell. She was still struggling beneath the truth.

"He was a senior in college," Nate said, "doing his teaching internship during his last semester."

Her parents would have just gotten married during her father's junior year. How could he! Julie pushed down the anger and tuned back into what Nate was saying.

"...told my mom that his wife had left him - "

"- I can't believe my mom would do that. She wouldn't just up and leave my dad without trying to work things out."

"Well apparently she did. And I don't how, exactly, but he and my mom ended up having an affair. But then your dad - our dad - said that his wife - your mom - was coming home, and he wanted to work things out with her, and that he couldn't see my mom ever again. He was three days away from finishing his student teaching. He quit early. Just didn't show up for work the next three days. She signed off on the internship papers anyway."

"You said your mom told my dad that she was on the pill when she wasn't. Why would she do that?"

"She wanted to get pregnant. She'd fallen for him even before the affair started, and she thought a pregnancy would...lock him down. In case your mom decided to come home, she thought, if she was pregnant, he'd leave your mom for her."

"Unbelievable," Julie muttered. She'd heard women sometimes got pregnant to "keep a man," but she didn't understand it. Her dad should have used a condom anyway, no matter what that teacher told him. Julie couldn't believe he'd been so irresponsible. No, he shouldn't have used a condom. He shouldn't have been in bed with her in the first place! Julie was having trouble wrapping her mind around this image of a much different man than the one she'd grown up knowing. "But then when she did get pregnant, she didn't even tell him?"

"He broke it off with her before she knew she was pregnant. My mom started to have second thoughts, to feel guilty for the affair. She decided that since he clearly wanted to save his marriage, she didn't want to ruin. So she didn't contact him. At the end of the school year, she moved to Maryland." Nate sighed. "It shocked me when she told me all this, because she wasn't that person. She was never that person in my eyes, who would do foolish things and have an affair with a married man and get pregnant to try to lock him down like that. She was a good mom. She worked hard. She did charity work in the summers. She raised me alone."

Julie looked into his troubled eyes. Nate must have been going through something like the emotional turmoil she'd been experiencing, the wild disconnect. She wasn't exactly alone in this experience.

Nate folded the napkin on which Julie had written down Coach Taylor's cell phone number and tucked it in his front shirt pocket. "Does she know?" he asked. "Your mom? About the affair?"

Julie hadn't talked to either of her parents since she'd found out yesterday, but – assuming her dad wasn't lying to Matt – "Yeah. She knows. And my husband told my dad about you, so I guess he'll be expecting your call."

"Maybe I shouldn't. I don't want to stir things up. They've been married a really long time. Clearly they got past it."

"Things have probably already been stirred up. My dad probably told her. They tell each other everything."

"Sounds like a good, honest marriage."

Julie snorted. "Yeah. I used to think they had the ideal marriage." She lowered her voice and muttered, "Guess I was wrong."

"People change," Nate said. "Relationships change."

She and Nate talked a little more – about their own lives – about music and books and movies – about anything other than the fact that their parents weren't always the people they believed them to be. Julie told him to keep in touch. He offered to drop her off at work at the Sun-Times on his way out of town.

Julie marveled at the car when she got inside. She'd found her car unnecessary in the city and had sold it to save money. She couldn't imagine ever owning anything like this.

"You compensating for something?" she teased as he pulled away from the curb. Then she wished she hadn't. Maybe he was compensating for the fact that he'd never had a father.

"If it makes you think I'm less of a douche," he said, "I did buy it at a charity auction."

She smiled, and so did he. She saw her father in his smile, and her own faded.


	5. Knowing the Ending

Tami pulled into the driveway at 9 PM. The headlights of her SUV cast a ghostlike glow on the rail of their wrap-around wooden porch. As she turned off the engine, she thought of the words she had once spoken to Jason Street: "There is no weakness in forgiveness."

She hated that she could feel the way she did, after all the work she and Eric had done together, after her husband had proven his fidelity and his love for her, time and time again, after all they'd learned, after all they'd grown...after all that, she didn't think it was fair that she could feel like this.

Mixed with the hurt and the anger was the strange pity for Eric. It must be a terrible thing for him, she realized, to know that no matter how hard he worked, and no matter how desperately he loved her, he could never entirely erase the past.

In the six months after she learned about the affair, every single day, something Tami would see or hear - a mention of adultery on TV, an article, a book, a couple in the park - would poke the wound. In the six months after that, it happened every week. Then things got easier, maybe once a month, then every other month, then maybe once or twice a year, until, finally, she didn't feel the old wound at all. But now the scab had been abruptly ripped off.

A son. He had a son. With that other woman. Eric loved his daughters, but Tami suspected he'd always wanted a son. She hadn't given him one. But that woman had.

 _At least she's dead now,_ Tami thought, and was immediately horrified by the fact that she had thought it.

Once inside, she kicked her shoes into the hall closet and threw her briefcase on top of them. Sighing, she made her way to her daughter's room. They were keeping up appearances for Gracie. They had told her daddy was in the guest bedroom because he'd been snoring and mommy couldn't sleep.

Eric was there, kneeling by their daughter's bed, saying bedtime prayers. He didn't see Tami hovering in the doorframe, and he kept on praying: "And bless our family. Please give us love for one another and the right words to say to each other. _Please_."

"With a cherry on top!" Gracie giggled.

Eric raised his bent head and tousled her hair. He smiled. It was a sad smile, mixed with affection. "I love you, my Gracie Belle."

"Mommmy!"

Tami stepped in when Gracie noticed her. "I'll finish putting her to bed," she said.

Eric stood from the ground and nodded.

When she was done with Gracie, Tami went to the bedroom and changed into her Pemberton sweats and an old Lions t-shirt, padded to the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and joined Eric in the living room. She sat on the end of the couch farthest from where he sat in his recliner.

He paused his game tape and turned to her. "How was work?" he ventured.

"Good," she said. "I got a lot done. Your day?"

"My assistants and I drew up a new hydration plan. I saddled Coach Washington with all the paperwork for the PIAA. Then we set the summer training schedule. I picked up Gracie from Piper's, and we went grocery shopping. She wanted Lucky Charms, but I talked her into Cheerios." Eric never talked this much. He was usually the one grunting, _Good,_ and Tami was the one giving the blow by blow of her day. "Then I took Gracie to the pool," he prattled on. "She swam an entire lap by herself. You should have seen it, babe. Jumped off the diving board too." When she didn't answer, he continued, "Those lessons must have paid off."

She murmured a sound of agreement and took a sip of wine.

"Listen, I need to get some clothes out of the bedroom, for tomorrow morning. Unless...you know...you want..." He trailed off. He wanted her to invite him back into their bed, she knew.

"I said a couple of weeks, Eric. It's been one night."

He looked down at the remote control. "Yeah."

"You can get your clothes in the morning. I'm going to work early. I'll be up before you."

"A'ight," he murmured. He ran his fingers lightly over the keys of the remote.

She sipped her wine in silence for a while. He didn't unpause the game tape. He kept his eyes on the remote. At length, he cleared his throat. "Listen, uh...the kid called me today."

Tami tensed.

"Do you want me to tell you these things," he asked, "or is it better if I don't?"

"You should tell me these things."

"Okay. The kid called me today."

She relaxed a little. It was funny, the way he kept saying _the kid_. It was so quintessentially Eric. She looked at him and smiled. "And what did _the kid_ say?" It was natural to tease him, familiar, right. It felt good, for a moment, but when he smiled affectionately back at her, she thought, _I wonder if he ever smiled at her like that,_ and she looked away.

"He wants to meet me for lunch on Thursday. He's driving up from Maryland. Says he has a potential client he has to meet for dinner near here. Is that okay? Piper's parents will take Julie for the afternoon."

"Sure," she said. "You should meet him. He's...your son."

"If you don't want me to, Tami, I won't. He's an adult. I don't have any legal responsibility for him."

"Meet him."

"You sure?"

"It's the right thing to do," she said, "and you want to meet him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"He clearly wants to meet you. You should go. But thank you for being willing to put me first."

"I love you, Tami."

"I know." She did know, but, at the moment, she knew it the way she knew that Austin was the capital of Texas. It was merely a fact, not a feeling.

"Maybe you should call Julie," Eric said. "She's got to be going through a lot right now."

"I thought you wanted to be the one to talk to her?"

"I did, but she won't return my calls. Will you talk to her, please? Maybe she'll answer for you."

Tami nodded. She stood up, plucked her wine glass from the coffee table, and said, "I'm turning in. I'll call Julie before I go to sleep."

"Will you also ask her to talk to me?" His voice was weak. Small. He looked so defeated sitting there, not his usual solid and certain presence.

"I'll ask," she said.

"A'ight. I love you, Tami."

She stopped behind his recliner and let a hand rest on his shoulder. She knew he wanted - needed - to hear the words back, but all those years ago, the counselor had told her not to say them out of some reflexive sense of duty, that it would be like spreading a gloss over her pain, and that in turn might make the actual healing slower. Still, she wanted to say something, wanted him to know that, however her heart felt at the moment, her mind knew their marriage was a permanent and positive fixture.

She looked over him to the paused snapshot on the screen: a football hanging suspended in the air, a player leaping from the turf, hands open, and the outcome momentarily uncertain. "You've watched this tape a dozen times," she reassured him. "You know the ending. He catches the ball. He has to make his way through some tough linemen, but he eventually reaches the end zone."

She squeezed his shoulder and left him sitting alone in the recliner, staring at the frozen screen.


	6. Mother-Daughter Talk

Julie settled onto the loveseat with her laptop. Matt was working late at the gallery again. She wasn't fond of his new hours, but she _was_ fond of the increase in pay. He'd been relying on food stamps when she first moved in with him, because the outrageous Chicago rent on his loft consumed most of his income. They had learned that while two can't really live more cheaply than one, two _can_ live more cheaply than two. Between her part-time income and his full-time income, and with the help of a partial scholarship and the gift money Julie's parents sometimes slipped their way, they were doing fine. Now maybe they could start saving for a bigger place.

She was on the second page of a paper when her cell phone rang. Assuming it was Matt, who always called on his way out the gallery door, she immediately answered without looking at the screen. "If you hurry home you won't regret it," she said in a sultry tone.

"Well it sounds like someone's getting laid tonight."

"God! Mom! I thought you were Matt!"

Her mother chuckled. But then her good humor seemed to fade. "Jules," she said seriously, "Did Matt tell you everything your dad told him?"

"Yeah," Julie answered cautiously as she set her laptop aside. "But it wasn't very detailed. And it's not your version. I'd like to hear your side of the story."

Her mother was calm the entire time she was talking, but she sounded strained to Julie, like someone who has just hit herself hard on a table and is biting down in order not to curse.

"We got married during your dad's junior year of college," her mother began. "We'd been dating for three years already, and like you and Matt, we just didn't see the point of waiting. We were so sure of ourselves. We had no idea how little we knew about marriage and about adult life. Maybe that's why we were both so worried and upset when you got engaged to Matt."

"You were worried," Julie said, "Dad was just a jerk to Matt."

"Don't call your father a jerk," her mother scolded.

"Fine. So what happened?"

"Your father had a spectacular season his junior year. We thought he was going to get drafted to the NFL the spring of his senior year."

"But he wasn't drafted."

"No, he wasn't. But...I'd sort of started spending in anticipation of the possibility."

"Why would you do that?" Dad was always tighter than Mom, sure, always more worried about finances, but her mother had never been irresponsible with money.

"Because I was young and naive, and I thought your dad was going to get this huge signing bonus. No one ever taught me financial responsibility. My parents were a financial mess. And you know your aunt Shelley."

Julie adored her Aunt Shelley, but she was aware that Shelley was nowhere near as stable as her mother, and she had always wondered at the wide difference in personality. "How much did you spend?"

"Let's just say I maxed out a couple of credit cards."

"A couple?"

"I bought nice, new clothes. I never had any growing up. I always had to shop at the thrift stores and the Salvation Army."

Julie had heard that her grandfather had once filed for personal bankruptcy, but her grandma had divorced him when Julie was three. She'd re-married a financially stable oil man. They owned a gorgeous house the Taylors used to visit once a year in Houston, so Julie had never thought about the fact that her mother must have grown up poor.

"I bought fancy shoes and boots and purses," her mother continued. "I went out to nice lunches with my girlfriends, to happy hour after work, and I treated them. I was working full-time, but, you know, back then I just had my high school diploma, and I wasn't making much money. When your dad found out how much debt I'd racked up without telling him, he got angry. We fought a lot. He said some hurtful things to me, and I said some hurtful things to him..."

"What kind of things?"

"The kind of things you can't take back, no matter how much you want to." She told Julie that the fighting just kept getting worse. In the end, Julie's mother had stormed out of their apartment with a suitcase and a one-way plane ticket to Dallas. She quit her job and left her husband behind. She moved in with Shelley, who was then 18 and living with her 22-year-old boyfriend. "And then I refused to return your father's calls. Even though he left a message on Shelley's answering machine every night for two weeks."

"That doesn't sound like you. You used to make me have conversations with you as a punishment!"

"I acted like a child," she told Julie. "I left him in a childish fit of anger, without any assurance I was coming back. I left him vulnerable. I don't excuse what he did. _He_ doesn't excuse what he did. But we both played a part in it."

"How long were you gone?"

"Six weeks."

"Is that how long the affair lasted?" Julie asked.

"Physically, it didn't start until three weeks after I had left, though he'd known her all semester. He was her student teacher."

"I know. Nate told - " Julie stopped. She assumed her mother knew, but what if she didn't?

"I know about his son. He told me."

"How long did it last? The affair?"

"He ended it the day I called to say I was coming home and that I wanted to try marriage counseling. Believe it or not, but Shelley's boyfriend at the time was a sensible guy. I used to talk to him in the evenings, and he told me that counseling saved his parents' marriage. He talked me into going home and trying it."

"When did Dad tell you about the affair?"

"He was afraid I would divorce him immediately if I knew, so he didn't tell me right away. But during our first counseling session, the counselor talked to us about radical honesty. That night, he broke down and confessed."

"Why didn't you walk away right then and there?"

"I was aware that the affair hadn't arisen in a vacuum. And I needed to make sense of it. I needed to make sense of us. Over the next few months, the counselor helped us put the affair in context, and he helped us work through it. We learned so many things, Julie, about ourselves, about our relationship with each other, about our relationships with our parents and how that affected the way we interacted with one another...I had no idea how little I knew about myself up to that point. That experience was what made me want to be a counselor myself. That's why I eventually went to college and got my counseling degree."

Julie still had a photo of her nine-year-old self donning her mother's graduation cap. Dad had been so proud of Mom, Julie remembered, snapping photos left and right at the graduation ceremony and bragging to others about how Mom had graduated magna cum laude.

"So, you just went to counseling and then you were fine?" Julie asked, her skepticism tinged with anger. "Your marriage was okay even though he _cheated_ on you?"

"It wasn't that simple. There was a lot of work. Your dad had to check in with me several times a day for a while after the affair, to reassure me. We had to go to household budgeting classes and read finance books. He took on extra work to help pay off my debts. We had a year of counseling. We also read marriage books together and went to marriage classes. We fought some more. I cried a lot. But we pulled through."

"How could you have been okay with him moving to Austin and us staying in Dillon when you knew he'd once cheated on you?"

"Julie, I trust your father. He earned back my trust long before Austin. And we talked on the phone every day when he was there. I didn't send him off doubting my love and respect for him. That was a completely different sort of separation. And if it was unwise, that's not because your father isn't trustworthy, but because I needed him at home. Because we needed each other."

"Why did you decide to get pregnant with me so soon after the affair?" Nate was only twenty months older than her, and a pregnancy took nine months. "Did you think it would help keep you together?" Julie was thinking of the stupid thing Nate's mom had tried to do - to get pregnant to "lock down" her dad - and wondered if her own mom could possibly have been so foolish.

"It's never a good idea to get pregnant to try to save a marriage, Jules. I don't want you to think that, if you and Matt ever fight -– "

"- I _don't_ think that. That's why I'm wondering why you did it!"

"I didn't. We weren't planning to have kids until we'd been married at least another four years, to make sure the marriage was secure and we'd paid off the credit cards. But the condom broke. It wasn't planned. Things were a lot better, but we were still working on our marriage at that point."

"So…in the beginning…" Julie dreaded the question, but she had to ask it: "did you end up staying married because of me?"

"We stayed married for a lot of reasons. You were one of them, yes. But there were others. Including the fact that we loved each other, and we were becoming different, better people together." Julie was quiet. "Julie, your father's a good man."

When Julie didn't reply, her mom continued, "He is. I know your father inside and out by now. He knows me the same way. When you get to be my age…when you see all that I've seen…" She sighed. "He really is a good man, Julie. It's painful what happened, but your father has worked very hard on our marriage over the years. I've seen a lot, and I know how much more effort your father puts into our relationship than most men do. It would have been easy to walk away from each other, but we didn't. Instead, we realized we had to learn the things no one had ever taught us. Your dad's parents had a rocky marriage. Mine divorced. They were poor examples. A successful marriage requires regular effort. No one ever really told us that. That's why it's been so important for us to talk to you about communication, and compromise, and honesty - "

"- But not about the truth about Dad cheating?"

"We thought we could teach you some of what we learned without going there. We wanted that past to stay behind us. And unless you've been through it yourself, you can't really understand it anyway. But we taught you what we could."

"I have to go," Julie muttered, her gut a mixture of anger and sorrow. She didn't want to cry on the phone, not when her mom was already going through so much.

"Do you want to talk to your dad? He wants to talk to you."

"No."

"Julie – "

" - I can't, mom. I just can't."

"Julie, he's so ashamed. He's so ashamed."

"Well he should be!"

"Julie - "

"- I'm sorry. I have to go." She hung up the phone.

Julie let out a strangled cry of frustration, grief, and anger as she threw her head back against the love seat. She got up and started making tea, turning on the gas burner with a flick flick.

She thought of her father asking her, "Did you know he was married?" after her fling with her T.A. He'd sounded so disappointed when he'd asked it too. So disappointed. "Did you know he was married?" he'd asked. "Did you know?" _Hypocrite!_

She plucked the kettle from the counter and began to fill it from the faucet, and then she slammed it on the stove. Some water spilled out and splashed with a sizzle on the gas flames beneath the burner..


	7. Doing Something

When Julie hung up, Tami tossed her cell phone on the nightstand and finished her glass of wine. She looked at the untouched spot where Eric hadn't slept last night and thought of telling him to come to bed.

"No," she murmured to herself. She had to take this space, get back into a more loving mindset, and not pretend she wasn't feeling what she was feeling. As painful as this distance might be at the moment, it would be better for the marriage in the long-run. If he was beside her in bed tonight, she would probably start asking the old questions - the questions the counselor had firmly advised her not to ask: How many times? Where? Did she do things I don't do? Questions she hadn't thought about in years and years.

 _I thought you said we should practice radically honesty?_ she'd told the counselor.

 _Not with the details_ , he'd replied. _Some depths are better left unearthed, Tami. Each answer will only make you angrier and give birth to another question. There will never be enough to satisfy you. If you start down this line of inquiry, you'll go mad._

Eric had earned her respect, trust, and love after the affair, more than earned them - deepened them each year. Why should she have to resolve these feelings once again? How could they come alive, even as a weak echo, after all these years? It wasn't fair! She thought she was over this, beyond it, above it.

People talked as though forgiveness was a moment in time, instead of an uneven process, a long journey littered with hills and valleys. They spoke as though forgiveness was a feeling instead of a series of calculated actions. Tami knew better. And the action she must take now was to put this space between them, for a time. She would not invite Eric back to their room, but she would at least speak to him once more tonight. He ought to know she'd made the call to Julie.

Tami made her way to the living room. The recliner was vacant, the TV was off, but in the foyer beyond, the front door was ajar. Porch light trickled in and lit a trail on the tile entry way. The screen door was closed, but a rare sound filtered through the mesh. Eric was sobbing.

Through the window above the screen, she could see him bent over the rail, his body heaving. Tami felt equal parts anger and pity. She wanted to gather him into her arms and slap him at the same time.

The sobbing stopped. His breathing levelled, and he pulled himself up straight. He lifted the edge of his white t-shirt from his stomach and wiped his eyes, and then he grabbed the rail with the palms of his hands and looked out over the third acre lawn that stretched out to the sidewalk of the quiet, darkened neighborhood.

Tami opened the screen door. The creak was deafening in the silence that followed his sobs. She stepped to her left and leaned back against the house.

He turned and wiped a lingering tear from his cheek with his thumb. Beneath the porch light, where two moths danced, his face was red and blotched. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she said and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

"I was just uh…." He scratched the back of his neck.

"I know," she said. "But why? What do you think? That after all these years, after all we've shared, that I would divorce you _now_?"

"No," he said. He leaned back against the rail. "But sometimes I think you should have divorced me then. Sometimes I think you'd have had more happiness sooner, if you hadn't had to take the time to work through all that."

"If I hadn't taken the time to work through _all that_ , Eric, if I hadn't learned the life tools I learned in those counseling sessions, I would have had a lot more unhappiness in my life. No matter who I was with."

He let out a shaky sigh. "You talk to Julie?"

"I did, but she's angry at you right now and she didn't want to talk to you. You'll have to give her time."

He nodded.

"But I did try to give her the big picture, Eric. I didn't try to make you into the bad guy."

"Even if I _am_ the bad guy?"

"You're a good man with a strong conscience." That much she could say easily. To her, that was not a feeling. It had become a fact.

He looked down at the porch. "I don't have to meet Nate, Tami. If it's going to drag out this reconciliation, I won't. I'll call him and tell him - "

"- Meet him," she insisted. "I need to get to a place where I can talk about him with you the way we talk about everything. Without all the...baggage. I need to get past this...this place I'm in."

"And if you don't?"

"I will."

He looked up from the wooden planks, and the porch light reflected in his softened eyes. "I can't stand to see you in this pain. What can I do?"

"Be patient."

"What else? Damn, Tami, please, let me _do_ something. Give me something to _do_!"

"Fine," she said, and pulled open the screen door. "The oak tree in the back yard needs trimming."

[*]

Eric knew Tami was being sarcastic, but he trimmed the oak tree anyway, the next morning after she left for work, while Gracie was watching her morning cartoons inside. The grinding of the chainsaw was soothing somehow.

When he was done, he showered, made himself and Gracie breakfast, and then took the girl to Piper's house. Gracie raced straight inside after her friend, while Eric remained on the porch and thanked Piper's mother Nicole for watching her. "We owe you one or three," he said.

"Is everything all right?" Nicole asked, and put a hand gently on his shoulder.

He lept back as if she were fire. "Everything's fine."

"You've just seemed out of sorts, lately. If you want to talk - "

"- I don't want to talk."

Eric felt no attraction to this woman, but he knew that was how it had started once, so long ago. _Do you want to talk?_ It was dangerous, the counselor had taught him, to delve into his marriage problems with a friend of the opposite sex, especially if there was any chance that friend might be attracted to him. The counselor had helped Eric to see how the affair had happened, step by gradual step, like sliding into sleep while you're watching TV, still half believing you're awake.

 _I never thought I was capable of such a thing_ , Eric had told the counselor. _I hate myself._

 _Nearly everyone is **capable** , Eric, given the right circumstances. It's easy to be faithful when things are going well, and so people start to believe that they're faithful because they're too good to fall._

 _But I'm not good._

 _I didn't say that. You're imperfect. And now that you know that, you can build a defense. Every man - and woman - should have a good defense, but too many people falsely believe they're too good to need one, that no matter what the circumstances, pressures, or temptations, they'll always do the right thing. They don't see they've set foot on that slide until they're more than halfway down._

 _Every team needs a good defense,_ Eric had replied.

 _Exactly. But you need a good offense too. That's where the marriage classes come in, the date nights, the talk times. You need to nurture your marriage. But you also need to defend it, and realize that during troubled times, temptation will be looking for holes in your defense._

Eric looked at the woman who had just touched him and felt bad for his strong, instinctive reaction. She was just being kind and neighborly. He must appear rude to her. "Sorry, Nicole" he said. "I just...everything is fine. I appreciate your concern. I've just had a little bit of insomnia, and it's been a rough week." He stepped back and down the first porch step. "Thank you for watching Gracie. I'll get her around three, if that's okay."

"That'll be fine," Nicole said, and Eric swiveled, walked down the last two steps, and made his way to his truck.

It was time to meet Nate.


	8. Meeting the Kid

There was nothing like Texas barbecue in Philadelphia, but this had been the best place Eric could find. Worried about being late, he had arrived fifteen minutes early, and now he felt awkward sitting at this two-person table by himself, drinking beer, and pretending to be reading something on his smartphone.

What was he supposed to say to this kid? How could a complete stranger be his son? And how in hell could Cassie not have told him, given him a chance to step up, to play some part in his own son's life? Then again, he couldn't help but be grateful that she hadn't. Back then, his marriage to Tami would not have survived the constant reminder.

A text popped up on his phone. "Get milk." A simple command from Tami, and yet it made his heart spasm, just to hear from her in the middle of the day.

"Anything else?" he texted back.

"Wine. Red."

"Will do."

"You at lunch?"

Was it a good thing or a bad thing that she wanted to broach this topic? "Already here. He's late."

"Thought you said 12:15?"

"It's 12:21."

"Good Lord, hon, give him a window for traffic."

Eric usually hated to text. Texting seemed so inefficient. It was fine for a reminder, but not for a conversation. But if Tami was willing to talk this way, he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. "How's your day been?" he texted.

"The provost called me a battle axe."

"The provost doesn't know what a jewel he has."

He got back a smiley face. He didn't know how she did that, send little pictures like that. He texted, "I love you."

He waited.

Nothing.

"Mr. Taylor?"

Eric wasn't used to being called _mister_. He looked up from the screen of his phone and saw a young man standing there, and he knew, instantly, this was his son. The kid's hair was lighter, a sandy brown, but it had the same wild thickness to it. His jawline was a match for Eric's own, and he had the eyes of Eric's mother, the eyes Julie had received.

Eric slid his cellphone back into his jeans pocket. "Yeah, son, have a seat." Son was just something he said to any young man. He hadn't meant to sound so….fatherly. He could tell Nate was a little surprised, and put-off, by the easy way the word fell from his mouth.

The kid pulled out the chair and sat down. "Nathan Sanderson," he said. "Nate," as if Eric didn't already know his name. The kid looked as nervous as Eric felt.

"Eric Taylor." Eric extended his hand. They shook over the table.

Nate looked around the joint. "Rustic," he said.

"Yeah." Eric looked over the young man's dark, tailored suit. "Guess it's not your usual style."

"I don't have a usual style."

The waitress stood beside the table, and Nate ordered an iced tea. "Unsweet," he specified.

She smiled. "Where are you from?"

"Maryland," Nate answered. "Just outside D.C."

"They drink sweet tea there?" she asked.

"We drink both kinds."

"You like it there? In Maryland?" asked the waitress, flicking her long, brown hair off her chest with her pen to better reveal her cleavage.

"It's fine." Nate turned from her to Eric, and she left.

"You don't want a beer?" Eric asked when she was gone.

"I don't drink - "

"- At all?" Eric asked. Was Nate a recovering alcoholic? Or, given the way he'd ignored the attention of that pretty waitress, was he perhaps a religious fundamentalist? Cassie hadn't been religious, not that he recalled, but maybe at some point she'd become so.

"In restaurants," Nate clarified. "Mark-up is preposterous on alcohol." He pointed to Eric's beer. "If, over the past 20 years, you had conservatively invested all of the money you saved by never drinking restaurant alcohol, you'd probably have an extra $70,000 right now."

"Then how 'bout if _I_ buy you a beer?"

"No thank you. The potential client I'm meeting tonight will probably buy us a bottle of bourbon. I should hold off."

Eric sipped his beer. "I didn't know you existed," he said.

"I know," Nate told him. "Don't worry. I don't assume you're a deadbeat. From what little I've learned about you, I assume you're a responsible sort of man. _Now_ anyway. Maybe not during the time period when you impregnated my mother."

Eric coughed. His beer stuck in his throat a moment, and he worked it down. He set his mug back on the table. An awkward silence fell between them. Eric was relieved when the waitress returned with Nate's ice tea and set it down.

She smiled at Nate. "Headed back to the office after lunch?"

"I have a meeting later," Nate said.

"Suit looks really good on you," she said. "You fill it out, you know."

"Thanks," Nate said. "Could we have a couple more minutes to look over the menu?"

"Sure," she said, clearly disappointed that he wasn't returning her banter.

Eric was puzzled that Nate didn't flirt back. On the phone, he had said he wasn't married. "She's pretty, don't you think? The waitress?"

Nate glanced in the direction of the retreating waitress. "I guess."

"Did you realize that she was flirting with you?" Eric had been a bit dense about that sort of thing when he was younger, but Nate ought to be old enough to have figured it out.

When Eric was in 10th grade, a girl had finally broken down and kissed him suddenly in the middle of a conversation because he hadn't picked up on her subtle hints. He'd laughed and said, _You like me?_ and she'd said, _I've been telling you that for a month, moron._

Eric had gradually learned to flirt after that, but he'd intentionally unlearned it after the affair. Ever since, he'd never flirted with a woman other than his own wife, not even casually. He thought he owed it to Tami not to do anything that had the potential to make her feel even a tiny bit insecure.

Nate turned back to him. "She was?"

"Yeah. You could probably get her number if you asked."

"Why would I want her number?" Nate asked.

"Ah. I guess you have a steady girlfriend."

Nate opened his lunch menu. "So, any good football games on this weekend?"

"This weekend? The pre-season hasn't even started yet."

"Oh." Nate said. "When does it start?"

How in the hell could this kid not know when football season started? "Well, there's the pre-season, and then the regular season starts in September."

"So when is your first pre-season game?"

"In Pennsylvania high school ball, we can't have physical contact until training camp starts in mid-August."

"Ah."

"You don't watch football?"

Nate shook his head and turned a page in the menu.

"What sport did you play in high school?"

"I didn't play any sports. I was on the mental math team though. Won the state championship."

"The…. _mental math_ state championship?" Eric asked.

"Well, it was a general academic competition. That was one of the categories. There were other categories you could compete in."

"Oh. I see." He looked Nate over. The kids was fit. "What do you do to stay in shape?"

"Gardening."

"Oh."

Nate laughed. "I'm kidding you. I go to the gym. Lift weights. Do the elliptical. That sort of thing."

Eric smiled and felt a little relieved. "Well, listen, the ribs are pretty good here. I always get the ribs. Never the brisket. Once you've had Texas brisket…" Eric shook his head.

Nate turned backwards a page in the menu. "I think I'll get the vegetable side platter."

"And share my ribs, you mean?" Eric asked. "I don't know. I can probably eat a full rack by myself."

"I'm a vegetarian."

"Is that a joke, too?"

"No," Nate said. "I'm really a vegetarian."

"Oh." What the hell? "Sorry. I wouldn't have suggested this place if I'd known that. All the vegetables have bacon in them here."

Nate shut his menu and pushed it aside. "Then I'll just get the brisket salad without the brisket."

"My daughter Julie is a vegetarian, too," Eric said. He ventured a quip: "Guess there must be a recessive gene for that." Then he immediately regretted the attempt at humor.

"I was raised a vegetarian," Nate said.

Eric didn't recall Cassie being a vegetarian, but he couldn't remember much about her. Until Matt's phone call, he hadn't thought of her in a very long time. Tami's forgiveness had utterly buried his memories of her. Eric couldn't even remember what had attracted him to Cassie in the first place, other than the fact that she had fed his ego at a time when it was starving.

He'd failed the expectations of his wife, his father, his teammates, and his coach when he didn't make it to the NFL. When he found out about the extent of Tami's debt, he asked her to return what things she still could, and it had made him feel like a hundred times more of a failure, sending her back with the things he could not afford to give her. He'd turned his impotence to anger. He hated to think of the words he'd said to Tami in those days - spoiled, irresponsible, spendthrift, gold digger. And he hated to think of the things she'd called him - bench warmer, miser, stick-up-his-ass, _failure_. He hated to recall the fights that had driven her to her sister in Dallas, with no promise of return. He'd left message after message on Shelley's answering machine, each more desperate than the last, but Tami hadn't called back.

And then there he was...a former college football star who was suddenly nothing and no one. He was making just above minimum wage at a menial, evening janitorial job, pushing through his student teaching internship on five hours of sleep, worrying about how they would pay off Tami's debts, fearing she would never come home, wondering what had happened to the admiration she used to feel for him, returning to his empty apartment and his empty bed…And there was Cassie, telling him how funny he was, how smart, how competent, how handsome, how _lucky_ his wife must be to have him...

Nate said, "Julie told me about a great vegetarian Indian restaurant in Chicago."

Eric felt a pang to think that this kid had spoken to Julie in the past few days when he hadn't. "Julie came home at the age of twelve," Eric said, "and just announced she was going to be a vegetarian. My wife said we should just let her, that she'd go back to eating meat on her own. And my wife is always right." He closed his menu. "Except on the rare occasions when she's not."

The waitress returned and took their order.

Another awkward silence fell.

Nate broke it: "Any cancer or heart disease or insanity in the family?"

"What?"

"I'm thinking I should get a health history, you know. Since I don't know any of that stuff."

"Well," Eric said, "my mother died of a heart attack when she was fifty-six."

Julie had been two at the time, and he'd felt suddenly a child again himself, losing his mother so unexpectedly like that. His marriage was fairly strong by then - not as strong as it would be the next year, or the year after, or the year after that - but strong. Tami had been his rock in that time of loss.

"That young?"

"Well, she was a very heavy drinker. Her parents both outlived her, though they're gone now. I honestly don't know what they died of. And my dad's still kicking around. He's in great physical shape, still does some of his own work around the ranch, and he's seventy-eight now."

"Are you close to him?" Nate asked.

"No. He got remarried a long time ago. Moved all the way down south to his wife's ranch near Brownsville. It was a long way from Dillon, and it's an even longer way from Philadelphia."

"What about mental illnesses?" Nate asked. "You said your mom was a heavy drinker?"

"She probably had depression, yeah. Never got diagnosed though. I've never had a problem with that myself." If you didn't count that dark time in his marriage, when he'd felt worthless and turned to the first woman who made him feel valuable. The year that followed had been dark, too, that year of counseling, of digging, of self-examination, that rough year of standing silently beneath the heavy waterfall of Tami's hurt and anger, accepting her fury, and loathing himself.

Tami's forgiveness, when it came, was absolute. There was never a time, once that year of counseling was behind them, when she flung the affair in his face during an argument or turned it into a weapon against him. And ever since the healing, Eric had been convinced that he held a diamond in the palm of his hand. Maybe it was a blessing, in a way, to go through that dark tunnel on the front end of the marriage, instead of seven to twelve years in, like he'd seen so many divorcing or near-divorcing couples do. He and Tami had learned early, and they'd had years of happiness and mutual support. They would have years more, he reassured himself. Nate's emergence was nothing compared to the things they had already survived.

Lunch arrived, and Nate and Eric ate in silence for awhile. Coach Taylor was licking his fingers after laying his sixth rib on the plate when Nate asked, "Have you refinanced your mortgage yet?"

"What?"

"Your mortgage. Have you refinanced recently? You moved here, what, two and half years ago?"

"About."

"Rates have dropped. What's your current rate?"

"Uh…"

Nate shook his head, "Never mind, sorry. That's rude. I get carried away sometimes. This stuff is always in my head – finance, investments, numbers. It's exciting."

"Exciting?"

Nate shrugged. "For me. I know it's not football."

Eric struggled to make conversation, and he was relieved when the check came. Nate tried to pay it, but Eric insisted on doing so, saying, "I guess I owe you at least that much."

"The average cost of rearing a child to age 18 is $245,000. But I'd be willing to take just 50 percent of that, if you're writing a check."

Eric slid his credit card into the bill fold and set it up on the table. He looked at Nate warily.

The kid chuckled and smiled.

Eric chuckled and smiled back.

"You two have the same smile," the waitress said as she stopped by the table. "Are you his big brother?"

"Technically," Nate said, "He's my father."

The waitress looked at Eric with a tilt of her head. "What, did you have him when you were 14?" She'd given up on Nate and turned her attention to Eric. "You must have been one young, hot father."

"Could you just take the check please?" Eric asked, tapping the top of the card holder with his hand, his wedding ring displayed.


	9. Flirting with Danger

Julie was at work, just finishing up the proofreading on an article, when she got the text message from Nate: "Met him. Had lunch."

She tensed. Nate meeting her father suddenly made this whole thing even more real.

"How'd it go?" she replied.

"A little weird."

"What did you talk about?" Julie texted. "Football?"

"He did. He has more of a Texas accent than you."

"Yeah."

"I'll be in Chicago for a conference in three weeks. Lunch?"

Julie thought about it for a moment. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to make Nate a part of her life. How would her mom feel about that? But she _did_ like him, and she'd always wanted a sibling who was close in age. Julie loved her little sister, but it wasn't the same as having a sibling you could talk to on your own level. "Sure," she texted finally. "We'll work out a time later. Got to get back to work."

She was about to turn off the phone when she noticed the voice mail from her father. She sighed and listened to it. His voice, usual so vibrant and certain, seemed smaller than usual: "Julie, I'm….I'm sorry I disappointed you." That was it.

She stabbed her finger against the delete button.

[*]

Tami slid the drawer to her desk filing cabinet closed and looked at the last text message on her cell phone, Eric's unanswered _I love you._ She'd thrown herself into her work after that message, and it was now 6:05 PM. How had that happened?

She didn't want to go home and face Eric, because she wasn't ready to talk about his meeting with his son. She had tried to be casual about the meeting, but she kept wondering if Nate looked like the other woman.

After the affair, against the counselor's advice, Tami had snuck into the high school where Eric had completed his student teaching. She'd searched the pictures in the staff directory plastered to the main hall. She wanted to know what the other woman looked like, if she was prettier, skinnier, more buxom, classier…what. It was easier to consider such possibilities then, than to consider how lonely and emasculated Eric must have felt.

Tami found the picture. The woman wasn't prettier - she was only moderately attractive – she was nothing special at all, which, in a way, almost made it worse. Tami thought of finding the woman's class and telling her right to her face just how much pain she had caused, of asking her – eye to eye - if she cared at all about anyone other than herself, but she didn't. She just slinked out of the school, sat in her car in the parking lot, and cried.

Tami had lost the vision of that photograph completely within two years of the affair, and Eric said he didn't remember what she looked like, but seeing Nate…would that bring her back to Eric? And if it did, would there be pleasure in the recollection?

Tami did not want to think of such things. The Assistant Dean had invited her and some Braemore professors out for drinks this evening. She'd declined, knowing she hadn't spent much time with Gracie lately, but now she picked up her desk phone and paged her assistant. "Think I'll join y'all after all," she said.

"Good," he said. "We're gathering at the Irish pub at 6:30."

"Which Irish pub?" Tami could think of at least three off the top of her head.

"The one the college kids don't go to."

She knew precisely what he was talking about. She'd been there for lunch a time or two. Tami texted Eric, "Don't make me dinner. Going out with colleagues. Probably home late. After 10." She unlocked her bottom desk drawer and removed her purse.

The phone buzzed. "OK," Eric's text read,"I'll wait up for you."

"Don't."

At the bar, she pushed aside her unhappy thoughts and enjoyed socializing. It had been months since she'd gone out like this, just to chat with acquaintances. She loved conversing, laughing, and getting to know her colleagues better. Tami was more outgoing than her husband, and the work/family balance hadn't allowed much time for a social life.

Eventually, those colleagues began to slip home, one by one, but she lingered, until only she and Professor Fateen Kattan remained. Dr. Kattan was on the admissions committee with her.

"I've always wondered," she said, "Why do you teach Islamic studies if you're an atheist?"

"One must remain objective, Tami," he told her with a smile. "As you have the good sense to do when evaluating applications."

"Not always," she said. "Sometimes I get a feeling about an applicant, an instinct of sorts."

"And your instincts are well honed. You have compassion as well as reason. It's a rare combination."

Dr. Kattan had been flirting with her half the evening. Tami found him both charming and handsome, and his flirtations were subtle enough, so she had allowed it. It felt good to be reminded that she had the power to attract men.

"I admire the way you stood up to the provost at the meeting this afternoon," he said.

"Thank you," she told him. "It wasn't easy, but we can't go back to the status quo."

"A woman of courage, brains, and beauty. I do hope your husband considers himself a lucky man."

"I think he does." She sipped her Magners hard cider. A pint of beer and two glasses of strong red wine had preceded it. She'd munched on shared appetizers, but hadn't eaten a real dinner, and she could feel the buzz tickling her mind.

"What does he do?" Dr. Kattan asked, "your husband?"

"He's a high school football coach."

Dr. Kattan laughed. "No, seriously, what does he do?"

"He's an excellent coach," Tami said somewhat defensively. "And he also teaches."

"Teaches what?" he asked, one dark eyebrow slightly raised, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a dimple forming in his smooth, mocha skin.

That dimple reminded Tami of a former college football teammate of Eric's, who had made a pass at her shortly after she learned about the affair. Tami had seriously considered responding to his advances. She had thought it might make her and Eric even somehow, for him to know what that betrayal felt like, for him to have to think of her in bed with another man.

But she hadn't avenged herself. Instead, she'd practiced the radical honesty the counselor had talked about, and she'd told Eric about the pass his friend had made.

 _It wasn't the first time he's made a pass at me_ , she admitted. _He tried at a party once, last year._

 _Why didn't you tell me?_

 _Because we weren't practicing radical honesty_ _then._ _But now that we are, tell me honestly - was she better in bed than me?_

 _You know you're not supposed to ask those questions._

 _Was she?_ Tami demanded.

 _No._

 _How can I know if you're lying?_

 _When have I ever lied to you?_

 _The affair!_ she shouted.

 _I didn't lie about that. I came clean. I told you the truth! I didn't lie or sneak around to have it._

 _You didn't have to!_

 _Exactly!_ he replied. _Because you weren't here! You left me! You put us deep in debt, spend all this money we don't have, and then you get all mad at **me** , you leave me, you don't even return my calls, and -_

 _\- And that makes it acceptable for you to go fuck some other woman?_ The f-word wielded power for her, because she rarely used it. She put her anger into it, enunciated it. _Does it?_

 _No_ , he said, suddenly clam, no longer arguing with her, clearly straining to practice the things the counselor had told him he must practice in the wake of her anger. _Nothing could make that acceptable._

But his calmness hadn't calmed her. Not that night.

 _Were you glad to have the excuse?_ she spat. _Glad to have the chance to fuck some more experienced woman?_

He stood rigidly in the midst of the whirlwind of her anger.

 _How experienced was she? I guess she was pretty damned experienced, if she's the kind of whore who chases married men!_

He said nothing, because there was nothing he could say that would soothe her.

 _Did you like it?_ screamed Tami, her anger feeding off itself. _Do you miss it? Do you wish you were fucking her right now?_

Silence from Eric, stoic silence, eyes staring straight ahead.

 _Did you do it in our bed?_

One word, finally: _No._

 _Liar! I bet you did! You fucked her in our bed!_

And then she slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, and he just stood there, the red print of her palm blooming out on his cheek. She was horrified by her loss of control, and afraid of his reaction.

He turned his face slowly back to her. _If it makes you feel better, Tami, hit me again. I deserve it. I deserve more than that._

She hadn't done it again. She'd gone back into their tiny bedroom and locked the door, leaned against it, and wept.

"What does he teach?" Dr. Kattan's repetition of the question drew her from her reverie.

"Physical Education," Tami answered. "And health and nutrition."

"P.E., you mean?" he asked with a smirk. He set down his empty whiskey glass. He'd been nursing that double for an hour. "I imagine it must be difficult...the conversations. A woman such as yourself, a dean, at a university as refined as Braemore, with your depth and classic beauty and sophistication, and a…a _football_ coach."

Tami knew she should put him off, but she couldn't think of a reply, so many memories were battling in her head. She drank her cider instead, draining it to the last drop, trying to silence the old arguments.

"Surely," Dr. Kattan continued, "you require a certain level of…." - he smiled - "...stimulation."

He scooted his stool a little closer, until his leg was lightly touching hers, and a jolt went through her body, an electric warning, a surge of sex and danger.


	10. Rescue

When Dr. Kattan's leg pressed against hers, Tami realized she'd made a mistake to allow his flirtations. She opened her purse and threw two twenties and a ten on the bar. That should cover her drinks, her share of the appetizers, and a tip, she thought, though she didn't really know, as her math was fuzzy at the moment. She slid herself down from the stool and stumbled a little. The stool was higher than she'd remembered it being when she first sat down.

Dr. Kattan quickly dismounted his own stool and slid an arm around her waist to steady her. "You've had too much to drink," he said.

She stepped away from his touch. "I just lost my footing," she insisted.

He put some cash on the bar. "Let me drive you home, Tami."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he insisted. "I'll drive you."

"I'll call a cab," she assured him and began making her way outside, but he followed her. On the sidewalk before the noisy street, he put a hand on the small of her back, an intimate gesture that, when Eric did it, always made her feel desired and protected.

"Let me drive you," he insisted. "I'm perfectly sober. Save yourself the fare. My car is a mere two blocks away. I'll bring it right around. Just wait here for me." And then he leaned down and kissed a spot of exposed flesh, just where her shoulder curved toward her neck. No man other than Eric had ever had his lips on that particular spot. A teenage boy or two, when she was a teenager herself, but no man. It was a strange sensation, unwanted yet exciting, like a sudden static shock.

Tami stood stunned as Dr. Kattan rounded the corner. Had she invited that? Her mind ping ponged over the evening, plunged into the distant past, and then surfaced again in the present moment. She had to get out of here before he came back. If she waited for a cab, he would try to talk her into his car. So Tami made her way to her own SUV, which was parked just a little ways down the street.

A jumble of emotions, and not thinking straight, Tami had driven three blocks, narrowly avoided an accident, and just entered the highway when she decided to pull over on the shoulder and kill her engine. Her hands shaking a little, she pulled out her cell phone, and that was when she saw Eric's texts:

7:30 PM: _Hope you're having a good time._

8:35 PM: _Just got Gracie to bed._

9:33 PM: _Text me when you start heading home_.

10:16 PM: _Did you leave yet?_

10:29 PM: _Where are you? Are you still at the bar?_

10:45 PM: _Please answer._

Tami clicked on Eric's cell number in her contact list. She didn't even hear the phone ring before he answered: "Tami, it's after 11. Why didn't you answer my texts?"

"I had my phone on mute."

"Where are you?"

"On the shoulder of the highway." Her voice sounded small in her own ears, frightened. "Near the entrance ramp I take from work. I think I'm drunk. I need to get home."

"Did you _drive_ there drunk?"

"Maybe." Tami started to cry.

"Stay there," he ordered, his voice as commanding as it was on the football field. "Don't drive anywhere. I'll get you out of there. Lock your doors."

Her vehicle shuddered as cars, ignoring the red SUV at the side of the road, intermittently whizzed by. Tami tried to calm herself and steady her thoughts, but she had begun to worry about how angry Eric was going to be over her foolishness.

Their house was twenty minutes from Braemore, and Eric couldn't just leave Gracie alone at night, so Tami was surprised when, within less than ten minutes, an SUV crunched onto the shoulder and headlights flooded her rearview mirror.

She squinted. The SUV was white. Not Eric's.

The vehicle's engine did not cut off, and the headlights remained on. A tall, muscular African-American man got out of the passenger's side.

Tami had already locked the doors, but she pressed the lock button again.

As the man approached, she watched him in the rearview mirror and was relieved to make out his face. It was Coach Clarence Washington, Eric's offensive coordinator for the Pioneers. He lived in the apartments just a few blocks from Braemore, closer to Pemberton than Eric. Tami and Eric had chosen to commute to work from the suburbs so Gracie would be able to attend better schools.

She unlocked the door. He opened it. "Scoot over," he commanded. "I've been ordered to drive you home." He waved in the direction of the white SUV, and it drove off.

Tami obeyed and slid into the passenger's seat. He looked at her tear-streaked face. "It's okay, Tami, at least you had the sense to stop driving before you killed anyone." He waited for a wide opening in the light traffic and then pulled off the shoulder onto the highway. "You _didn't_ kill anyone, did you?"

"No," she said. "Thank you. I'm sorry you had to come do this."

"Ain't nothing but a thing. Everyone makes mistakes. God knows I've made my share. Your husband gave me a job, and a chance to prove myself, when no one else would take a chance on me. Least I can do is help out his wife."

"He's a good man," Tami agreed.

"Best man I've ever worked for."

When Coach Washington pulled her SUV into the driveway, Eric was standing on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You a'ight?" he asked as she made her way up the stairs.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, mortified by what she'd done, her eyes fixed on the wooden planks.

"I need to drive Coach Washington home," Eric told her. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Tami made her way to their bedroom. She crawled on top of the fully made bed and cried some more before falling asleep.

She woke up at 6 AM. Her shoes were off, and a blanket had been draped over her. She ventured out into the living room. Eric was in his recliner, snoring lightly, the remote on his chest, two empty beer bottles on the coffee table. She wondered what questions Coach Washington had asked last night on the drive home and how many of them Eric had answered.

"Hon!"

He snorted, startled, and then looked at her as he snapped the recliner shut. He rubbed his eyes. "You want to tell me what happened last night?" he asked. "You've never driven drunk in your life."

She didn't want to tell him, because she was embarrassed by her behavior, but she sat down on the couch and told him everything.

"That's so odd," he said. "To kiss you like _that_. Like a...lover."

"Eric - "

"- Did you encourage him? Or was this some kind of Glen thing?"

"He was flirting with me, and I didn't discourage him. Not at first."

Eric, looking a bit sick to his stomach, asked, "Did you flirt back?"

"Maybe a little, at first," she admitted.

"Are you attracted to him?"

She wanted to defend herself by bringing up the affair, to remind him that _she_ was the one who had _never_ cheated, but she knew that wouldn't be fair, that he had a right to be concerned at the moment, and that he was probably already thinking of the affair himself and fearing she might, in her renewed emotion over an old wrong, turn to some other man.

"Eric, I should have nipped it in the bud. I shouldn't have played along even for a little bit, but I thought it was harmless. I swear I had no intention of doing anything with that man."

"Dr. Kattan. I met him at that cocktail party in May, didn't I? The handsome guy with the goatee? The one who kept using all the big words to show off? The one your secretary kept saying had sultry eyes? _That_ guy?"

"Yes. He's on the admissions committee with me. Eric, please don't go to Braemore and start a fight."

"I'm not going to _start_ a fight. When have I ever _started_ a fight?"

"I'll make sure to put him off firmly if he ever tries again. And the drunk driving, it won't _ever_ happen again," she promised. "I'm done with work happy hours for awhile anyway. It seems someone is always trying to kiss me."

Eric stood from the recliner. "Well, you know what your problem is? You're too damn beautiful for your own good."

"I don't know why I thought I could drive. I just wanted to get out of there. I didn't want to have to keep putting him off." She shouldn't have put herself in that position in the first place, she knew. She shouldn't have welcomed his flirtations, kept drinking, and then let herself be alone with him. She certainly should not have gotten in that vehicle and driven it as far as she had. She looked remorsefully at her husband, half expecting him to rebuke her.

"Well, you're safe now," Eric said. "No one got hurt. That's what matters."

She was surprised by the gentleness in his voice. "Thank you for not being angry. And thank you for looking out for me, for getting me home."

"I know things have been hard for you lately. I can't tell you how sorry I am about that."

"They've been hard for you, too," she said quietly.

He took a step closer and reached out his hand, as though to touch her cheek, but he was distracted by a creek in the hall, and Gracie yelling, "Mommy!"

He stepped back as their daughter tore into the living room, arms outstretched, wearing a Pemberton Pioneers youth t-shirt as a nightgown. "You're home!" She threw herself into her mother's arms.

Tami hugged her daughter. "Yes, I'm home," she said. "And I'm going to go in late to work today, so that you and I can have a little time together this morning."

"Can we make pancakes? With chocolate chip faces?"

"Absolutely. And then we'll do some reading together, and then maybe go to the park for an hour."

"Will you watch me do my trick on the monkey bars?"

Tami smiled. "Of course I will, sweetie."

She glanced up at Eric, who was smiling at them. He put a hand on Gracie's head, but his eyes locked with Tami's, and they shared a moment of happiness in the child their love had brought into this world.


	11. A Turn for the Better

Tami enjoyed her time with her daughter and then went into work late, just in time to attend the Admission Committee meeting. When she arrived, Dr. Kattan was already seated at the conference table, and he was the only one in the room. Tami glanced behind herself to make sure the door was wide open.

"I'm glad to see you made it home safely, Dean Taylor," he said. "I wanted to check if you had, but I realized I don't have your cell phone number."

Tami sat down at the head of the table, three chairs from where Dr. Kattan sat on the center left, and set her file folders in front of herself. "You don't need my personal cell phone number, Fateen. And what you tried last night - that will never happen again."

"What I tried?" he asked defensively. "What I _tried_ to do was to give an inebriated woman a safe ride home."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she replied sternly, "but we can pretend you don't as long as it never happens again."

"No, let's not pretend. Let me be blunt. I _assumed_ there was a reason you lingered after everyone else had left. That you laughed at my quips. That you accepted my compliments. I'm not naive, Tami, and I'm not new at this game."

"I'm not playing any games, Fateen." Not anymore, anyway, if she ever had been. "I'm married, and you know that."

"But are you married happily?"

"Yes. 98 percent of the time. Which, in a marriage that has lasted almost a quarter of a century, adds up to an awful lot of happiness."

"My mistake then," Dr. Kattan replied.

"It would have been a mistake even if I _was_ unhappy. It's always a mistake to help ruin someone's marriage when you could instead encourage them to improve it."

Tami thought of the woman who had taken advantage of Eric's weakness instead of advising him to work things out. She thought, too, of Shelley's live-in boyfriend, Tom, who had talked her into returning to Eric and seeking counseling. Tom and Shelley had broken up less than a year later, when Shelley decided she wanted to move to L.A. to pursue a career in acting, a whim that lasted 16 months. Tami wondered what had happened to him. Of all of Shelley's many boyfriends over the years, Tom had been her favorite.

Dr. Kattan shook his head, a light smile on his lips. "Perhaps the provost was right about you. You're quite the battle axe."

"I _was_ right about her," came the provost's voice as he entered the room, pulled out the chair on the other end of the table, and sat down. The man's deep voice was a strange contrast for his tall, skinny frame. He'd just been given the prestigious position in April. He and Tami had butted heads ever since. "She is a battle axe. But...I've been thinking." The provost pushed his glasses up on his nose. "There are a lot of doors that need hammering down."

Tami smiled. Was her primary opposition now in her camp? If so, perhaps everything was beginning to make a turn for the better…

[*]

Feeling much better after a productive meeting and two admissions interviews, Tami returned home early by 5 PM. Eric and Gracie were in the backyard, planting flowers in a circle around the well-trimmed oak tree. She sat on the decorative bench nearby. Gracie, who was kneeling on the ground, said, "Daddy got purple flowers to plant, Mommy."

"My favorite color."

Eric looked up from his work. His brow was slightly damp from the sweat of his labor, and his white, short-sleeved t-shirt pulled tightly across his strong shoulders. He looked extremely handsome to her, kneeling there against the grass, his hands dirtied from planting with his daughter. He was a good father, she thought.

He was a good husband, too. He was always there for her when she needed him, and he never judged her for her weaknesses. He'd supported her year after year, in the midst of all her disappointments, failures, and fears. Why, then, was this old pain still pricking her? It had flared up unexpectedly when he told her about Nate, and now it had largely subsided, but there was still this lingering ache.

"I know," he said. "That's why I got them. Because they're your favorite color. And because I love you."

"Thank you," Tami replied.

"Mommy, you're supposed to say _I love you, too!_ " Gracie exclaimed.

"She doesn't always have to, Gracie Belle," Eric told her. "Can you hand me that one?" He pointed at the box that had only one bunch of flowers remaining. Gracie plucked up a container, peeled off the green plastic bottom, and handed him the flowers by the potted dirt beneath. He pushed them into the freshly dug hole in the ground, and Gracie helped him pat the earth down around it.

Tami glanced at her watch. "What about dinner?" she asked.

"I'm taking you out," Eric said. "to that new Italian place you've been wanting to try." He pulled himself up into a standing position. "Just let me shower first."

"Hon, that's a little fancy for Gracie." The girl was on the hyperactive side, and though she was certainly old enough to be expected to sit still in a formal restaurant, Tami would have to keep a tight lid on her to make sure she did, which wasn't her idea of a relaxing meal.

"Nicole said we could drop her off there if we went out."

"We've been asking an awful lot of her lately, Eric. She's a single mom. She doesn't need the extra work."

"She said it actually makes it easier for her when Piper has a playmate. That way Piper leaves Nicole alone and she can get work done around the house."

"We're going to make pizzas!" Gracie told her excitedly. "Can I go, mommy, please! Can I?"

Tami agreed. Perhaps it was time for her and Eric to go on a date night, to attempt some kind of return to partial normalcy.

[*]

Eric pulled out Tami's chair for her. He would do that, intermittently - open doors, pull out chairs - but she could never predict when. It wasn't consistent. She felt bad for modern men. They must be confused by mixed signals and uncertain expectations when it came to small acts of chivalry. Eric, she thought, did such things when he was feeling especially tender and yet was short on words.

She sat down at the white-cloth-topped corner table, and Eric joined her on the other side. The waitress lit the candle in the gray, wiry container. It sizzled and flickered but held steady. Eric ordered a bottle of wine, and when the waitress had departed, Tami asked, "You didn't tell Nicole we were having….tensions...did you?" Tami imagined the woman had glanced at her with pity when they dropped Gracie off.

"No." He opened his menu. "But the other day she said I looked out of sorts."

"You do look out of sorts," Tami agreed. "You need to shave."

"You once told me you thought a five o'clock shadow was sexy on me."

"That's a 24 o'clock shadow, sugar," she said with an affectionate smile.

"Duly noted. And I like when you call me sugar."

"No, you don't," she said, opening and glancing at the menu. "You hate it. You've always hated it. You think it's a terrible pet name."

"Nah. You're wrong about that."

Tami's lips curved into a smirk. "I'm never wrong about anything."

The waitress returned with their wine, opened the bottle, and poured Eric an ounce. She waited expectantly. He took a little sip and said, "It's good," and looked at the waitress as though he desperately wanted her to go away. She poured them each a 5 ounce glass, asked them if they'd like more time to look over the menus, and then left them to themselves.

"Do you like it?" Eric asked. "The wine?"

Tami sipped. "It's lovely."

"Nice place," he said. "Do you like it?"

"Well, let's see what the food is like."

They read their menus in silence, and the waitress returned for their orders. When she was gone again, Eric said, "Romantic ambiance, huh?"

"The violinist is a nice touch." He was playing in a corner.

It felt almost as if they were on a first date, the way Eric was acting, the way she was acting in return. She didn't like it. They weren't acquaintances. They were husband and wife, and had been for over twenty-four years. They had shared baggage, and they had shared blessings. They had years upon years. "So tell me about your lunch date with Nate yesterday."

Eric shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I want to know, Eric. We need to be able to talk about these things. I was avoiding it last night. I don't want to avoid anything anymore."

Eric talked. He recounted most of their conversation.

"Did you like him?" Tami asked.

"I didn't know what to make of him, really," Eric admitted. "He was polite. He seemed intelligent and successful. There was nothing to dislike. But we have nothing in common that I could see."

The waitress returned with their food.

"Does he look like you?" Tami asked as she lifted her fork.

"He looks more like - "

Tami's heart seemed almost to stop a beat as she anticipated him mentioning Nate's mother.

"- Julie," he concluded.

"Oh, interesting."

"We have some features in common, but he has a lot of my mom in him, too. Like Julie. The eyes, especially."

"Are you going to meet again?"

"If it's okay with you, we'll probably meet for coffee the next time he's in town."

"It's okay," she said, and twirled her linguine around her fork. "He also wants to meet Julie for lunch in a couple weeks, when he's in Chicago."

Eric blinked. "How do you know that?"

"I talked to Julie this afternoon."

"Are they still coming this weekend?"

"Yes."

"She hasn't spoken to me since…" He trailed off, sighed, and looked into a corner.

"Well, she'll _have_ to speak to you when she sees you."

He returned his eyes to her. "How was your day at work today? Did you happen to...uh...run into Dr. Kattan?"

"He's on the committee, sugar. Of course I did."

Eric toyed with his steak. He was cutting it into unusually small pieces.

"I made it clear that I'm very, very married," Tami reassured him, "and that his advances were unwelcome. He won't be attempting them again."

"Good," Eric said quietly.

"Something else is good," she said, and he looked up. She told him about how the provost had finally agreed to increase the number of admissions interviews. "He all but admitted he'd been wrong."

"Of course you were right," Eric said, "and he was wrong. He had to see that eventually."

Tami smiled. "It's just that you can't tell anything from an essay these days. Some of these kids...they get help. They pay consultants to help to write them. But in an interview, you can tell how articulate a student is, how...thoughtful." She sipped her wine. "I just wonder what made the provost came around to my point of view."

"Maybe he realized that since you became Dean of Admissions, Braemore has climbed twelve places in the U.S. News and World Report rankings."

"You remember that?" she asked.

"Of course I do. I'm proud of you."

"But, the exact number of spaces? You remember that?"

He nodded.

"How many places did we climb on the Forbes list?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with pleasure.

"Seventeen," he said confidently.

"Close enough. Sixteen." Tami set down her wine glass down and took another bite of her food. After she had swallowed, she asked, "Are you ready for summer training?"

He held up a finger and finished the steak that was in his mouth. "Everything's in place," he answered. "I'm a bit worried about our new QB, but…."

The conversation continued. It felt good to be talking more normally again.

When they got home, after they had settled Gracie into bed, Tami kissed him on the cheek in the hallway outside their daughter's door, and said, "Thank you again for sending Coach Washington after me last night. I'm sorry I was so irresponsible."

"You've been upset. I understand. I'm just glad you're safe. I was worried."

"I do love you, Eric."

His eyes were bright and hopeful, and he leaned in to kiss her lips. She let him, briefly, but then she pulled back. "But I still need some time and space," she said. "I still need you to sleep in the guest bedroom for a few more days."

Hiding his disappointment, he looked down at the hall carpet. "A'ight," he muttered.

"I just want to make sure we do this right," she said. "I don't want to not be ready and end up saying something I regret."

He nodded and then raised his head. "Whatever you need, Tami. I love you."

She reached out and caressed his cheek for a moment before lowering her hand. "I think I'm going to turn in. Read a little before bed. You going to watch game tape?"

"Probably."

"Don't fall asleep in that recliner again," she said. "You'll get a cramp in your neck." She kissed his cheek before turning and starting down the hall toward their bedroom. She left him standing there, watching her, a look of longing in his eyes.


	12. Character

Julie and Matt flew to Philadelphia for the summer visit that was planned well before the startling revelation of her father's long-ago affair. Their plane got into Philadelphia International Airport at 11 AM on Saturday morning, and Gracie's birthday party was at three.

When the Taylors came to pick them up, Julie didn't hug her dad, and he didn't try to hug her. He just put their suitcase in the trunk and nodded at Matt. Matt nodded back. But Julie threw her arms around her mom, hugged her tighter than usual, and then squatted for Gracie's hugs and kisses.

They all made small talk on the drive back to the house. Jobs. Weather. Traffic. You could cut the tension with a knife. Somehow or other, they made it through the birthday party for Gracie. Julie's baby sister had four school friends at the party, including some crazy, silly girl named Piper. Gracie was a little wild herself, Julie thought, and she prided herself on being the easy child by comparison.

"Sugar high," Mom muttered as she watched the kids scream and laugh and run circles from the dining room through the kitchen to the hallway past the living room and back around. She looked tired to Julie, and the fact made her even angrier at her father, who busied himself the entire party with grilling hot dogs and hamburgers, filling up water balloons for the little girls to play with in the back yard, cutting cake, sweeping up the kitchen floor - anything to avoid looking Julie in the eye.

The last child left at 7:00 PM, and Julie's little sister was put through a regimen of showering, teeth brushing, night clothes, and "wind down time," which involved sprawling across Dad's lap as he sat in the recliner and watched old Looney Tunes cartoons with her. Mingled with Julie's anger was an unexpected pang of jealousy. She hadn't been Daddy's little girl in a very long time.

At Gracie's bedtime, Julie went into her little sister's room to read and talk to her just as her father was preparing to leave it. Their dad was sitting on Gracie's bed and bending down to give her one last hug and kiss. Julie leaned against the door frame, her eyes fixed on the floor. She heard the sound of her father's lips against her sister's forehead and sensed him stand.

She'd watched her father with Gracie before, in a scene very much like this, back in Dillon, after her affair with her T.A.. At the time, Julie was thinking, _Gracie is the daughter who hasn't yet disappointed him._ But at this moment, she was thinking, _Gracie is the daughter who doesn't yet know enough to be disappointed **in** him._

"Nite, Daddy," Gracie said as he neared the open frame of the door.

"Nite, baby girl. I love you." He glanced at Julie. His mouth opened, but he didn't say anything. He hung his head and scurried out.

[*]

Matt sat alone in a lawn chair on the back porch of the Taylors' house, his legs stretched out over the wood planks. Surprisingly, the Taylors had a bigger yard than they had possessed in Texas. People thought of Texas as a place of sweeping land, but most of the houses in Dillon didn't have much to speak of in the way of yards. This one was lush with grass, and a strong, old oak tree stood tall in the center. Flowers encircled the tree, and shrubbery lined the house on either side. A white pickett fence - the thing of story books - marked the property line and provided privacy from the neighbors. The only thing missing was a dog, but Julie had never been able to talk her mother into one, and Matt supposed Gracie had fared no better.

Matt was watching the fireflies flashing on and off in a desperate dance to attract a mate and listening to the crickets sing their hopeful songs of love when he was startled by a hand extending a beer in front of him.

"Want one?" Coach Taylor asked.

Matt looked at the beer. He was twenty-two now, after all, so he figured it wasn't a test this time, and he took it. Perhaps he shouldn't have, in case it was a peace offering of sorts. He was not ready to make peace. Man to man he might have, with no women in between, but Julie's disillusionment had hurt her badly, and his powerlessness to erase his wife's pain had turned a low burner on beneath his anger, which simmered somewhere in his gut.

Coach settled in the chair next to him. They drank in silence, beneath a porch light that was missing one of two bulbs, until Coach Taylor ventured some small talk about football, the next season, the weather…nothing of substance. When Matt didn't respond, his father-in-law fell silent.

"Character," Matt said into that silence. "Character is who you are when you think no one is watching."

Coach Taylor looked like he was chewing tobacco. He wasn't of course, but his face had that look about it. Maybe he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

"That's what your little sign said, in the locker room, right?" Matt asked. His voice grew more sarcastic: "Did you bring that one with you here to Pennsylvania?"

"You think I'm a hypocrite," Coach Taylor replied, "because I don't want the young men I coach to fail in any of the ways I did." He put the neck of his bottle to his mouth. He looked like the brew was bitter when he swallowed. "That's not hypocrisy, son. That's maturity."

Matt could feel the burner turning up, the anger boiling and rising. "I'd never cheat on Julie. Never."

"Good. That's what a father-in-law wants to hear." Coach Taylor put his fingers on the bridge of his nose and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were closed. He looked like he might be praying, but Matt had never seen him pray, except before football games and before dinner. For ball and for food, for the things he loved, but not for the things he feared.

Eventually, Coach put his hand down, let it dangle over the chair, and opened his eyes. He didn't look at Matt. "I hope," he said, "you never do anything you ever have to be ashamed of."

Except Matt already had, hadn't he? He'd been ashamed, years ago, when Coach Taylor had come to haul his drunk ass from the hospital. He'd been ashamed when he'd fled Julie to find himself and left her without a call. None of that was the same as cheating, but given what Julie had told Matt about her mother's versions of events, Coach Taylor might have felt something like the vulnerability, confusion, and anger that had once driven Matt. When Coach Taylor said Matt had nothing to be ashamed of, had he forgotten those things? Did his father-in-law really hold none of that against him?

The door opened. Mrs. Taylor came out and slid a hand on her husband's shoulder. Coach Taylor placed his hand over hers and closed his eyes. He looked like he was praying again, but this one looked like a grace, Matt thought. A _thank you, God._ Coach Taylor kissed his wife's fingers.

"Gracie's lights are out," Mrs. Taylor told her husband. "Julie's alone in the living room at the moment."

Coach Taylor stood up and disappeared inside while Mrs. Taylor slid down in the now empty chair next to Matt. She asked him about his art. That was something his father-in-law never did. Matt didn't think Coach Taylor respected his chosen calling in life. Mrs. Taylor had been supportive, though - she'd even purchased a painting of his, one that he'd been proud of even though it was so little like the rest of his work. It had featured a torn-up football lying in the remote corner of an overgrown field, and, on the distant horizon, a sun just beginning to rise. Matt had painted it when he first came to Chicago. He'd been thinking about the past he'd left behind, about the future he was trying to grasp.

Matt had looked for that painting when he came in the house today, but he hadn't seen it on any wall. He supposed it could be in their bedroom - the only room he hadn't been in today - but it was probably still wrapped and stored somewhere in the garage, almost a year later, or leaned in a corner in the basement. Mrs. Taylor probably hadn't really liked it. She'd probably bought it because she was being nice, maybe trying to slip the struggling couple money in a way that wouldn't damage Matt's pride.

"How are y'all doing out there in Chicago?" she asked.

"Good," he said.

He noticed she looked tired, a little older than he'd remembered her looking. She was probably the most beautiful forty-something he knew, but there was a weariness about her eyes he hadn't noticed before.

"What are your plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year?" she asked.

"Dillon. See my mom and grandma for Thanksgiving. We were planning to do Christmas here. Just the 24th through the 26th. We can't get much time off." _Were_ planning, he'd said. He wasn't sure how Julie would feel when the time came around.

"We'd love to have you then. Eric's excited about the possibility of having a white Christmas, especially now that Gracie's a little older and can get into the sledding. He loves watching her do that. We never could do that in Texas."

How did Mrs. Coach do it? Matt wondered. Remain so calm? Was this really the woman who had once stormed off from her newlywed husband and refused to return his calls? And now, she'd just learned a mere week ago that her husband had a son by another woman, and here she was...talking about how he wanted to take their daughter sledding.

Matt's in-laws had an entire history, a life before his life, a marriage that was even older than he was. He'd always known that, of course, but it was just a fact. He hadn't really thought about it before – that the Taylors' marriage, their marriage itself, was older than he was. He'd been through so much as a teenager that it hadn't occurred to him, until this moment, just how very young his world still was.


	13. Just Think About It

Julie knew her father by his footsteps. When he sat on the couch beside her, she didn't look at him. She didn't turn off the TV either, but she turned it down. Julie ran her fingertips over the buttons of the remote and felt as if she could barely breathe. "How could you?"

He didn't say anything.

"And then you judge me? When I slept with Derek? You have the nerve to ask me if I knew he was married? Hypocrite."

"It's not hypocrisy, Julie. You and Matt just don't understand - "

"- Understand what?" she spat.

"It wasn't hypocrisy, not wanting my daughter to help cause a woman the kind of pain I caused your mother." He paused. His hand was resting on his leg, just above his knee. "My father was a bad example for me. I wanted to change that. I wanted to be better than my father. And I wanted you to be better than me." His Adam's apple bobbed."I'm sorry I'm not the man you thought I was. But I'm also not the man I used to be."

Julie closed her eyes. Waves of anger and confusion undulated in a sea of disappointment. "I just don't understand how _you_ could do that. What was it about her? What was so special about her, that she was worth risking your marriage over? What made her better than Mom?"

"She wasn't better than your mother. She wasn't special."

"Then why? What was she to you?"

"A mentor. And a friend. Someone who thought well of me. Someone I could talk to about what I was going through. Your mother left me, Julie. I don't think you appreciate that part of the story."

"Oh, so it's Mom's fault, is it? It's _her_ fault _you_ cheated on her. You couldn't have flown after her to Dallas? You couldn't have _tried_ to fix it?"

"I was finishing college, and I was doing my teaching internship, and I was cleaning toilets at night to pay the credit cards. I called, but I couldn't just get on a plane and - "

"- So mom's to blame?" Julie half shouted.

"No, she's _not_ to blame. What I did was wrong. It was weak. _I_ was weak. I was so used to finding my worth in the applause of others. I didn't know that it was possible to value myself apart from that." He bit down on his back teeth. She could see the tears starting to form in his eyes. "A lot of my friends fell away when I didn't make it to the NFL. Until then, I didn't realize how many people weren't really my friends. And when I found out your mother had spent all that money, I started to think maybe she was one of them."

"One of who?"

"One of those people who didn't need me anymore, once they knew I wasn't going pro. I understand now, of course, that she left because of all the _fighting_ over the money, and not because she was disappointed I didn't make it. She was just excited by the idea of not having to be poor for once in her life, and she didn't think much about finance then, with her upbringing being what it was. So when she thought we were going to have some money, she got carried away. But I thought she _needed_ it, and that because I couldn't _give_ it to her..." He dug a hand into his hair. "Julie, we didn't know how to tell each other things. We didn't know how to communicate back then. So we just fought about the money, instead of telling each other all the things we were really afraid of. . . we said some harsh things to each other, and when she left, I felt worthless."

"And screwing some other chick made you feel better?"

"It made me feel like someone still wanted me."

Julie shook her head. She gripped the cushion, picked at it with her fingertips.

"I didn't set out to do it. I didn't go looking for it. We'd eat lunch together in the teacher's lounge. We'd talk. She would laugh at what I said. She would compliment me. It...it felt good. It was the _only_ thing that felt good in those lonely days, when your mother wasn't answering my calls."

Julie wanted to stop him from talking, but she couldn't.

"One day her car wouldn't start after school. So she got it towed, and I drove her home. I walked her to her door. She told me she had feelings for me, and she kissed me. I pulled away. I reminded her I was married. I told her I appreciated her friendship, but I couldn't...I couldn't do that. I went straight home and called Shelly's apartment in Dallas, but I got that damn answering machine again. I begged your mother to call me back, I said, I _need_ to know if we're going to work this out or not. I _need_ to know. And I waited. But she didn't call."

"So..." Julie blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay. She didn't want to know, and yet she had to know. "Then what?"

"The next day, when Cassie asked me for a ride home, because her car was still in the shop...that day, I went inside."

"Just that day?" Julie asked.

"No," he admitted. "Not just that day. But when your mom called me, all my love for her - all the love I'd been trying to bury because I didn't know if she wanted me anymore - it all came flooding back, and I was terrified of losing her. I told Cassie we had to stop. I told her I wanted to fix my marriage. I didn't even go back to that school. I didn't finish the last three days of my internship."

"But you didn't tell Mom right away either."

"I realized what a terrible thing I'd done, and I was afraid she'd leave me for good if she knew. So I thought I could hide it and just be... _better_. Just be a better person for your mother. Do penance. Make up for it somehow. But I couldn't. The truth had to come out. _Everything_ had to come out - years of things we'd both swept under the rug, not just when we were dating, but before we even met. We opened up veins in that counseling room, Julie. Vein after vein, and we bled in front of each other. . . But we also healed. And we grew."

Julie shook her head. She couldn't listen to this anymore. "I'm going to go check on Matt," she said and rose and left him there.

Before she opened the sliding glass door leading to the back porch, she steadied herself. She brushed away the two or three stray tears she didn't realize had fallen, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through her hair. When she went outside, her mom and Matt stopped talking. Eyes met eyes. Questions were asked, and not answered.

Julie's mom got up and went inside - to comfort her dad, no doubt. That's what Mom did. The supportive wife. She played the role well, didn't she? Julie had always thought of her mother as strong. Supportive, sure, but at the same time independent and willful. Dad was sort of the titular head of the family, but Mom led him fairly easily, and a lot of the time, he let himself be led. At least, that's how Julie had always seen it. Now, she didn't know what to think…

Matt stood after her mother went inside and took her into his arms. Julie melted into his embrace, comforted by his strong support. He held her for a long time.

Eventually, Matt kissed the top of her head. "Did you talk to him?"

"He made a bunch of excuses," she muttered, "about my mom leaving him, about that woman coming onto him first...and he said a bunch of stuff about opening veins...I don't know. I don't care. I hate him right now."

Matt's arms loosened around her. He seemed to want to say something, but he didn't. He only said, "We should go in."

When Julie and Matt came inside, her parents were on the couch. Her dad's head, weary, tired, was lying sideways on the back cushion and Mom's hand was on his cheek. They were looking a little sadly into one another's eyes. They pulled apart and turned to look at her.

Julie tugged Matt's hand. "I think we're going to bed," she said to her parents.

"It's only 9," her mother said.

Julie couldn't hang out and be around her father right now, not even for her mother's sake. "Goodnight," she said, the word falling like a shot from a gun.

Matt trailed after her.

[*]

Matt lay in the darkness, on the firm, thick mattress of the freshly made bed in the guest bedroom, wondering what to say to Julie. She was lying on her back beside him, staring up at the darker shadows on the already dark ceiling. Even without touching her, he could feel the tension in her body.

"I can't believe my mom didn't leave him after he cheated," she said. "I always thought of her as so strong, you know?"

Matt turned on his side and draped an arm around her. He didn't want to contradict her and possibly invalidate her feelings, but he didn't see how thinking this way was going to make her feel good either. "Do you think it's weak to forgive?" he asked. "You think that doesn't take strength?"

"Maybe you're right," she said quietly. "But then my dad doesn't deserve her."

"You know…" He slid his fingers into her hair and caressed the strands. "I know you're upset. And you've got every right to be. I've been upset with your father too. But I've also started thinking..." Matt was disappointed with Coach, but there was also this part of him that had begun to feel very badly for his father-in-law. "What must it be like to do something wrong," he speculated aloud, "to be sorry, to be forgiven, to change, to work hard at being better…and then to have it all blow up again over twenty years later? When you thought it was so far behind you? I mean, think about it, Julie. How would you like it if over twenty years from now, people were still judging you for what you did with that T.A.?"

She yanked away from his touch. Her eyes flashed in the darkness. "You said you weren't bothered by that. It's not like you and I were married. We were officially broken up. I didn't _cheat_ on you."

"No, you didn't." But it had still hurt, the thought of her having sex with that man. It would have hurt to think of her with anyone else, but the sting was doubled by the disappointment. He'd had to retreat to the bathroom just to breathe. What had happened to the sweet girl he'd once known in high school?

Matt had pretended not to be disappointed that day, for her sake, because she was clearly hurting, and she needed his mercy, not his judgement. But he'd felt a sorrow inside himself, like the heaviness that comes at a funeral. The innocent Julie he had once known, the first love of his life, was in some sense dead. But so was the boy he had once been.

It was hard to mourn alone. So he'd run after her in the end, and hoped that though their young flowers had withered, the good seeds remained, and that some new and more vibrant life would bloom again. And it had. She'd grown, and he'd grown with her, and they'd become not boyfriend and girlfriend, but _man_ and _wife_. Is that what had happened to his in-laws, but only _after_ the affair?

"I feel like there's a _but_ coming," Julie said.

Matt didn't want to say what he was thinking. She would be hurt and angry by his words. His in-laws were so honest with each other. He'd always thought it must be easy for them, because he'd once imagined they had a lucky marriage, but maybe it _wasn't_ easy. Maybe every time they told the truth to one another, it still took courage. And maybe he could have that courage too. "You didn't cheat on me," he told Julie. "But _he_ was married, Julie. _He_ was married."

"They were kind of apart, though," she insisted, and he could hear the defensive fear in her voice. "I mean, yeah, legally they were still married, but at the time they weren't really together and – "

"- Yeah. Sort of like your mom and dad, when he had his affair. Your mom was in another city. She left him, Julie." Matt thought of how Julie had once broken up with him, even though he'd done nothing wrong. Perhaps Mrs. Taylor, like her daughter, had once possessed a fear of the ordinary. He thought, too, of Carlotta. It wasn't the same; he and Julie weren't married and the break was clear, so it wasn't cheating, but he _did_ know what it was like to feel abandoned and to have that pain relieved by another woman. "He didn't even know if she was coming back," Matt told her.

Julie shut her lips tight. Normally, Matt would silence his opinion and not risk angering her. But tonight, he spoke his mind. "I'm not saying he isn't to blame for his actions. He was wrong. But do you think he would have done it if your mother hadn't left?Do you think it would have happened if that other woman had said, you know what, I'm _not_ going to sleep with a married man."

Julie's voice was a low, harsh whisper, softened by the trembling of near tears. "I thought at least _you_ didn't judge me."

He put a hand on her cheek. "I don't, Julie. That's in the past. You'd never do that sort of thing now, and when you did do it, you were hurting. That's my point. I _don't_ judge you. And that wasn't even twenty-four years ago." Matt sighed. "I'm just saying…think how your dad must feel right now. Just _think_ about it."


	14. Family Movie Night

"Sounds like they're talking in there," Eric said. He could hear faint murmurs seeping through the walls in the direction of the guest bedroom. "You think they're talking about..."

"Probably." Tami was still sitting on the couch next to him. She clicked off the TV Julie had left on.

"My conversation with Julie went badly," he told her. "I tried to...I tried to explain how it wasn't really about..."

"Sex?" Tami asked.

"I guess I just came off sounding defensive."

Tami put a hand on his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. A slight touch, but it was comforting. "She'll come around."

He sighed. "I don't know. "

"You're her father. And you've been a good father to her."

"Not always."

"You _are_ a good father, Eric. And a good husband." She leaned in and kissed him, softly.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sugar. Very much."

It was so good to hear her saying those words again. "And I'm so grateful for you, Tami."

She kissed him again and then pulled back. "That party has me wiped out, hon. I think I better turn in."

Eric waited for her direction. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do tonight, with Matt and Julie in the guest bedroom. He certainly didn't expect that she would want to have sex anytime soon, but he hoped at least to be invited back into their bed. There would be comfort in her presence tonight, a shared warmth. There was something familiar and yet sacred in a marriage bed.

"You should probably get your pillow," she told him. She glanced down at the couch. "There's a clean blanket in the linen closet."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

She kissed his forehead and left him sitting there. Gradually, he rose and claimed his pillow from their bed. _Her_ bed, for now. She was just returning from the master bath, in those cute athletic shorts she often wore to bed in the summer, and that tight Pemberton t-shirt, the slightly too-small one he'd bought her their first year here. She lifted the comforter and slid onto her side of the bed.

He wanted so very badly to slide in next to her, to spoon with her back pressed against his chest, to inhale the familiar scent of her shampoo, and fall asleep with his wife in his arms.

"'Nite," he told her, and made his way out of the room.

[*]

Julie didn't like what Matt was saying to her at first, but she listened, and she considered his words. They continued to talk there in the guest bed, more openly and honestly than they ever had. Matt gave her a perspective that made her wonder if there was really only a one year's age difference between them. It also made her remember why she'd felt confident in marrying him.

Eventually they started kissing, and then made love quietly – not just because they were in her parents' house and they were always uncomfortable doing it in that setting - but because right now Julie needed a gentle reassurance of his love and esteem - and Matt seemed to get that.

He fell asleep afterward, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his lips slightly open, but she'd just ended up lying on her back, thinking. Julie had felt guilty and ashamed for her affair with the T.A., and her dad had made the feeling worse with his obvious disappointment. Most of her shame back then was about not meeting expectations – her dad's, her mom's, her own. She hadn't really let herself think too much about the other woman. She'd tried to think of Derek's wife as nothing but a screeching bitch. She'd tried not to think too much about how that woman had felt. But that woman was a wife. A wife. Like Julie's own mom – a wife whose husband had slept with someone else, leaving her in a world of pain.

Julie wondered if Derek had ever reconciled with his wife. She doubted it. Derek wasn't her father. Her father had cut off the affair instantly when her mom said she wanted to fix the marriage. He hadn't tried to draw the other woman back in, even after discovery, the way Derek had done with her. He'd kept his distance from her and never set foot in that school again. Julie's father had gone to counseling. He'd done everything her mom had asked of him to help heal things. He'd worked hard. Derek, meanwhile, was probably thoroughly divorced by now and seducing another student. That's probably why he was separated in the first place. God, she'd been a fool.

Julie wondered if her mom had done anything like hunting down and publicly slapping the other woman, the way Derek's wife had done to her. Or maybe Mom had slapped Dad, when he'd told her. Who knows what she'd done. Julie knew so little about her parents. She saw one side of them, the side they chose to show her, but they had a whole life behind closed doors.

Julie's mother had been the one to show her compassion when she slept with Derek. Her mom, who had been injured in a similar way as Derek's wife. Her father had been the one to clench down his jaw, to disapprove sternly. And now Julie had done the same thing to him, while it was Matt who whispered suggestions of forgiveness.

Did we really judge others the most for the flaws that were within us? Was that a way of distancing ourselves from our own weaknesses? Or had her dad been disapproving of himself even as he'd been disapproving of her? Had that disappointment been turned inward?

[*]

When she still couldn't sleep, Julie decided to get a glass of warm milk. As she passed through the living room to the kitchen, she saw a lump stirring on the couch. Her dad. He had a pillow and a blanket, so it wasn't as if he'd just fallen asleep watching TV there. He'd been _sent_ there.

Julie's emotions were often fickle. She'd perfected that outward face of not caring as a teenager, but inside she cared deeply, about a thousand things, and what she cared about could change from second to second. Right now, instead of thinking, "How could Mom just take him back?" Julie was feeling a terror clench her chest. She was thinking, "What if she leaves him over this Nate thing? What if my parents divorce, after all these years?"

Her dad had by now sat up and switched on the lamp by the side of the couch. "Hey," he muttered, "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Julie slid into the arm chair beside the couch. "So…how long have you been on the couch?"

"Just tonight." He smiled weakly. "Because I was in the guest bedroom before y'all got here."

Was that meant to be a joke? She looked down at the carpet.

"Listen," he said, "We're going to be okay, me and your mom. She's not punishing me. She just needs a little space. I'm not here because we're fighting. I'm here so we won't end up fighting."

Julie looked at him skeptically.

"It's true," he said. "It's just hard for her. She hadn't really thought about it in a long time, and she needs a little space is all. It's better this way. That's something we learned. If you try to gloss over…without giving things enough time...without…it just …" He trailed off and sat back against the cushion. He rubbed his eyes.

"What did you think of Nate?" Julie asked.

"He was...Interesting." He dropped his hand and looked at her. "What did you think of him?"

"My half brother?" she asked. "He seems all right. Hey, you always wanted a boy right?"

"I wanted exactly what I was given. You and Gracie and your mom…you're the three most important things in the world to me. "

God, he looked tired. How much was he sleeping? "So mom's really upset?" she asked. "Even though she doesn't act like it?"

"Listen," he said, "We've had a long, good marriage, me and your mom. We're going to keep having one. It's just…I gave her a wound once, and there are consequences to that. The scab gets thicker and thicker over time, but if you tear at it…" He sighed. "This news about Nate was sudden, it was shocking, and it woke up some old pain. But we're doing what we need to do. We _know_ what we're doing."

"Are you going to try to have a relationship with Nate now?"

"I'm nothing to him. I was no part of his life. He had father figures growing up –uncles. I don't think he's looking for that. But he's curious about me. He wanted a health history and all that. And we agreed we'd meet again next time he's near Philly. He travels around a lot for his…I don't what the hell he does. I didn't understand. He does things with other people's money. He doesn't even have a college degree."

"Nice car though, huh?"

Her dad smiled. "Yeah. I saw him get into that on our way out from lunch."

"It's weird," she said. "That I have a brother."

Her father nodded. They were quiet for a while. "Do you want to watch something?" he asked.

Julie came and sat beside him on top of the blanket that covered his lap and fell over the cushion next to him. She put her head on his shoulder and he closed his eyes. "I love you, Monkey Noodle."

"I love you too, Dad," she said. It wasn't easy to say. The anger and disappointment still lingered. It would probably linger for a long time to come. But she _did_ love him. That was _why_ she'd been so disappointed.

Julie made herself say more: "I'm glad you and Mom worked things out in the beginning. I hope you keep working them out. You guys have given me a pretty good example. And maybe the way you worked through this was an example too. If Matt and I learn from you, then we'll go through fewer struggles than you did. You guys are giving us tools."

"You're sending Julie home with tools?" Julie's mom was suddenly behind the couch. "Are you finally going to unpack those last two boxes in the basement?"

Julie's dad leaned back to look up at her. "Marriage tools. She was talking about marriage tools."

"Ah."

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Julie's mom shook her head. Julie looked from her mother to her father. "Family movie night?" she asked.

"We have a Shakespeare movie on DVD," her mom said, going and grabbing it from a rack.

"Shakespeare?" Julie said. "I think Dad's going to object."

Julie's mom slid it in the player and was now sitting down on the couch. Julie was sandwiched between her parents.

"Your dad loves it. He's the one who bought it."

Julie snorted and glanced at him. "Is Philly broadening your horizons?"

"It's a war movie," he said. "The language is a little stilted, but I got used to it after a while."

Julie's dad stretched his arm out straight so it went across Julie and his hand was just resting on Mom's back, below her neck. Julie's mom turned and smiled at him. There was a little bit of sadness in that smile, something shared, and love. "I like family movie night," she said. He smiled back, the same way.

When the movie was half over, they were all drifting off. Julie woke up when her mom clicked the TV off and said, "We should all get to sleep."

Julie stood, said goodnight to them, and began walking to the guest bedroom. When she got to the door, she heard her mom say, "Eric, hon, aren't you coming to bed?"

Then her dad's hesitant, hopeful voice: "To…with you?"

"Yeah," said her mom. "This couch can't be comfortable."

Julie felt the relief flooding over her. She gently pushed open the guest bedroom door. They were going to be all right. Her parents loved each other, had managed to build a good marriage together, even if it had gotten off to a rocky start. They knew how to handle each other, when to give one another space, when to reach out. What had her mom said? They knew each other inside and out.

Julie slid in bed next to the slumbering Matt and cuddled close. She and Matt would have their problems, sure, but maybe they'd escape a lot of the pain and conflicts her parents had worked through over the years, because they'd been given a more solid start - more support. They didn't have to go it alone as a couple, the way her parents always had.

She spooned up behind her husband and held on tight.


	15. Knowing One Another

"Eric approached Tami with caution. He knew this invitation back into their bed was a good sign, but he didn't know how much or how little she wanted to be touched. When she turned on her side to face him, however, he draped an arm around her and stroked the ends of her hair, wrapping a few strands lazily around a fingertip.

She scooted closer and kissed him gently, briefly on the lips. He kissed her back the same way, but her next kiss lingered and deepened. While they kissed, she began to caress his ear, teasing the lobe, and then running her fingers tantalizing around the edge.

Breathing a little heavily, he pulled his head back. "You know what that does to me, Tami."

"Yes, sugar, I do. That's _why_ I'm doing it."

[*]

 _The first time they had sex after the affair, Eric was lost in the pleasure of the moment. Hope that they had turned the corner buoyed his soul. He was grateful to feel her flesh pressed against his once again, and excited by the prospect of inspiring her low moan of satisfaction. He thought she must be close, but then something ripped through her - not a moan, not a groan - but a sob. She was crying._

 _Eric pulled out immediately, stumbled to the bathroom, and slumped against the vanity. Disgusted with himself, he slid down on the bathroom floor, the cold tile pressed against his naked flesh. There, his bare back against the rough wood of the bathroom cabinets, her sobs drifting from the bed, he thought once again of killing himself._

 _For all their honesty in the counseling room, that was one thing he hadn't yet told Tami - or the counselor either. He never mentioned the fact that he had thought of killing himself. He was afraid the counselor would have to do something, put him somewhere, in some institution, if he knew the thought had crossed Eric's mind not once or twice but a half dozen times in the past two months._

 _Eric wrote the letter in his mind that night on the bathroom floor, the simple words he would say to her: "I'm sorry. Please find happiness with someone better." He would make sure all the accounts were in order, he thought, and that he'd written down all the financial information she would need in an obvious place. He'd leave her a copy of the life insurance certificate. And then he would borrow the neighbor's rifle, claim he was going hunting, drive up to some secluded spot, hike into the woods, and have an accident._

[*]

What was Tami saying, while her fingers teased his ear? That she wanted sex? _Now?_

God knew he did, desperately, and not just because her deep kiss and sensual touch had aroused him physically, but because he wanted so badly to be close to her again.

Eric studied her eyes in the sparse light from the lone lamp she'd left dimmed on her nightstand. He hadn't expected this tonight. An hour ago, he hadn't even expected to be sleeping beside her. "Are you sure you're ready?"

[*]

 _That night, when Eric staggered to the bathroom, Tami rolled over onto her stomach and buried her sobs in the pillow. As much as she had tried, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him with that other woman, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of her._

 _Eric hadn't asked for sex that night, but Tami had offered it. They'd been growing closer in their counseling sessions, and it had been so long. They hadn't had sex since before she'd left him and gone to her sister's apartment in Dallas. They hadn't been physically intimate for over four months. And Tami was afraid...Even in the midst of her anger and her pain, she was afraid of losing him._

 _All the time she was in Dallas, she took for granted that she could come home anytime she liked, and that he'd be faithfully waiting for her, like a loyal dog. He might complain and grumble, and they might fight, but he would take her back at her convenience, and there would be no one else on his mind. He'd been the one to chase her half their senior year of high school, after all, Tami Taylor, voted "best hair," "best legs," "prettiest smile," "friendliest," **and** Homecoming Queen. He'd won her from Mo at last, even though he didn't have Mo's Mustang, Mo's spending money, or Mo's state ring, which the team had won the year before Eric moved to town. She and Eric had been together since they were seventeen, and he had never strayed, despite his dramatic rise to prominence on the Aggies and all the pretty groupies who tripped like eager puppies on his heels. _

_But she'd been wrong. I_ _f Eric wanted, any day, he could walk back to that other woman, and what was keeping him from doing it, really? Cassie told him how wonderful he was. Cassie was older, more mature, and had a real career. She wasn't still answering phones and waiting tables. Cassie was financially responsible. She hadn't put Eric into debt by burning up their credit cards, or left him in a storm of passion, or woken him up in the middle of the night to yell at him for the awful thing he'd done. Cassie wouldn't cry when he was moving inside her. Cassie would tell him how good he felt, what a man he was._

 _Tami rolled out of bed, threw on her robe, and knocked on the bathroom door. Eric made a grunting sound, and she pushed the door open. He sat there, naked, on the floor, his hair a wild mess, his knees up and his arms draped over them._

 _"I'm sorry," she said. "Come back to bed. We'll try again. I won't cry this time. I promise."_

 _"No." He stood up. "You're clearly not ready."_

 _And then she said it, the fear that was knotting her intestines: "I don't want you going back to her. I don't want to lose you."_

[*]

"I'm sure," Tami told Eric.

"I can wait," he insisted. "It's fine, Tami. I can wait. Let's wait."

She smiled. "Afraid the kids will hear us?"

"No. You know what I'm afraid of."

[*]

T _ami sounded like she meant it when she said she didn't want to lose him - him, the cheater, the betrayer, the washed up college football star, who was looking at some low-paying future in a classroom. A broken, fallen man, and she still wanted him. Why?_

 _He stepped closer, and his arms surrounded her. "I'm not going anywhere, Tami," he promised. "I'm not ever going anywhere but here."_

 _She buried her head against his bare shoulder and cried. When her sobs had tapered off, she said, "I want us to move far away from her." Tami did not know, then, that Cassie, pregnant with Nate, had already moved to her brother's home in Maryland._

 _"I'll stop applying to schools in College Station," he assured her. "I'll look for a job in the panhandle. Amarillo, maybe." A 500 miles away. "Whatever you need, Tami."_

 _"I need us," she said. "I need us to be us again. But a better us."_

 _"I need that, too."_

 _The suicidal thoughts soon passed. They never again resurfaced. And yet it was not until two years later that Eric finally confessed them to Tami, before he opened that one last dark corner of his heart._

[*]

Tami put a hand on his t-shirt, over his heart. "Eric, _I'm_ not afraid. I know you'll wait as long as I need. I know I don't have to do anything I'm not ready to do. But right now, I want this as much as you do."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "But it needs to be slow and tender tonight."

"A'ight."

She was so beautiful when he freed her from her clothes, so warm in his arms, her skin so deliciously soft beneath his mouth. "Damn, I love you," he murmured. "I love the way you feel. I love every inch of you."

"Then touch me," she insisted as she guided his hand between her legs.

When they were joined, and he was moving rhythmically inside of her, he turned his mind to play diagrams to keep himself from losing control. He drew lines over her maddening whimpers and sighs, closing his eyes hard as she pleaded with him to make her cum, whimpering, "please...Eric….please…." When she moaned and began to shudder, he let go of his restraint and joined her in the cascade over the edge.

Naked and entwined with his wife, he could feel the tension drain from every tightened muscle. "I love you, Tami. More than anything in this world."

"I know. And I love you too."

He closed his eyes and drifted off into the deepest sleep he'd had in days.

[*]

Propped up on one elbow, Tami watched her husband sleep. He had been afraid she might think of his adultery, but she hadn't. Instead, she had thought of how familiar and right his hands felt on her body, of how carefully he'd learned to please her, of all the little discoveries of new pleasure they had made over the years. She thought of how their bodies conformed perfectly to one another, and of how few people ever had the chance to learn to love another human being this deeply, this thoroughly, this nakedly.

Cassie was swept back in the past where she belonged, the temporary lover of some man who was not the man who slept beside her now. Tami had once been a different woman, she thought, and she'd been married to a different man. But tonight she was Dean Tami Taylor, and her husband was Coach Eric Taylor, and no one else in all the world knew who they really were. But they knew each other.


	16. The Sun Still Rises

Matt sat in the passenger's seat of Coach Taylor's black SUV. They were headed to Home Depot to pick up some items they needed to finish putting together the swing set the Taylors had bought Gracie for her birthday. It had a swing, rings, and a high bar so she could practice her gymnastics.

"I got to run into my office a sec," Coach Taylor said as he swung his vehicle into the parking lot of an old, brick building that looked like a prison. "Summer training starts soon. Just got to grab something."

Coach Taylor pulled out his keys as they walked toward the building. Matt looked across the deserted lot to the Pemberton High School football field, which rested behind barbed wire. The bleachers were unimpressive. He thought the entire thing looked smaller than his _junior_ high school stadium in Texas. Football wasn't God in Pennsylvania. Even if he won, Coach Taylor still might not be particularly important here. "You…uh…like working here?" Matt asked.

"Team had a long way to go when I got here, but we might actually win state this year." They were inside now, and Coach Taylor was flicking on the lights to his office. "It would be nice if I didn't have to teach so many classes just to make almost what I made in Texas, but Mrs. Taylor loves Philadelphia. She's happy with her job. It challenges her." He shoved his keys in his shorts pocket. "I like seeing her happy."

Coach Taylor went around to the front of his desk, opened a drawer, and began rooting around. Matt looked over his father-in-law's shoulder and saw, behind the desk, his own painting hung prominently on the center of the wall, dwarfing the framed certificates on the periphery. It wasn't stored, still wrapped, in some corner of the Taylors' basement after all. The image of that tattered, lonely football rested there, on a rough field of blackish green grass.

"Who's in here?" came a deep voice from the main door.

"Clarence, it's me," Coach Taylor called, stopping his search.

A man who reminded Matt of an older, taller version of Smash Williams walked inside the office. "Just saw the door was ajar," he said. "I just came by to grab something."

"Me too. Clarence, this is my son-in-law Matt. Matt, this is Coach Washington."

Matt shook the man's outstretched hand. "Oh," Coach Washington said, "So you're the one who did that?" He motioned to the painting behind the desk.

"Uh…yeah," Matt answered.

Coach Washington snorted. "Yeah, Eric's always mentioning that. My son-in-law painted that. You see that painting? That's by my son-in-law. Did you notice my son-in-law's painting? Every frickin' time I walk into the office. Like I don't know by now. He's like that guy who won't stop showing you pictures of his kids."

Coach Taylor shook his head, grabbed a binder off his desk, and shoved it against Coach Washington's chest. "This what you came for?"

Coach Washington smiled and took it. "Yeah. We still have that meeting Tuesday?"

Coach Taylor nodded.

"How's Tami?"

"She's doing a'ight," Coach Taylor said. "Thanks again for uh...you know."

"Anytime," the man said. "Well, I'm happy to _help_ anytime. I don't expect to be helping in that particular way again."

"You won't be."

When Coach Washington was gone, Matt said, "So…you like the painting?" Had Coach wanted Mrs. Taylor to buy it for him? She'd been the one to ask for it, to write the check.

"Sure. Of course."

"Why?" Matt asked. "You don't really like art, do you?"

And how could his father-in-law like that particular painting, when it clearly implied the foolishness of clinging to the memory of one's high school football glory days? It wasn't that Matt didn't value what he'd learned on that field, or the friendships he'd forged there, but he didn't want to believe that winning a state ring was the best day of his life. He'd seen too many of those boosters, men like Buddy Garrity, pathetically stuck in the past, sometimes even neglecting the present. When he'd painted that painting, Matt had wanted to move on from football, away from it, to leave it behind on the way to a brighter future.

His father-in-law turned and looked at the painting. "Reminds me of what the Lions and I did together." He gestured to the sorry looking football in the corner of the overgrown field, and then to the rising sun on the far horizon. "Keeps me focused on what I'm hoping to do with the Pioneers. Coming from behind, you know." He waved his hand up and down in a sweeping motion that outlined the wild, overgrown grass. "And I guess it reminds me of life in general. So many weeds, so damn many weeds, but they don't choke life out in the end, do they? Sun still rises. The game goes on."

"Uh…" Matt looked at his own painting. "Yeah. I could see that."

"Well sure. You painted it."

A breath of air, almost a laugh, escaped Matt's mouth. "Yeah, well…art means different things to different people."

Coach Taylor took a few items from his desk. Matt was still staring at his own painting, seeing it, for the first time, as though it wasn't merely his own.

"Got what I need," Coach Taylor said. "Ready to build a swing set?"

Matt nodded and followed his father-in-law back toward the parking lot. When Coach Taylor's back was to him, a broad smile spread across Matt's face.

Back at the Taylors', Coach Taylor went back and forth from grilling and building with Matt while Julie and Tami set the picnic table. The men, dripping with sweat, scarfed down their burgers and drained their ice tea while Gracie took two bites of her dinner and then ran for the new swing set. "Push me, Julie! Push me!"

"She can certainly swing herself," Mrs. Taylor insisted, but Julie went over anyway.

"Good burgers, hon," Mrs. Taylor said. "I like your special seasoning."

"Do you?" Coach Taylor asked with a lecherous smile. "You like a little spice?"

She picked up a pickle chip and slid it sensuously into her mouth. "Mhmmmhm," she murmured.

Matt coughed and rose. "Think I better help Julie push," he said.

"Not anytime soon I hope," Mrs. Taylor said as he began to walk across the lawn. "I'm not ready to be a grandmother." Then, to her husband, "Do I look like a grandmother, sugar?"

Matt didn't hear Coach Taylor's reply, but he heard his mother-in-law's charmed laugh. He smiled as he neared the swing set and leaned one hand against the support. "Your parents are embarrassing," he said.

Julie smiled, that sweet, happy smile he so loved to see light up her face. "I know. They're horrible. But…" She bobbed her head a little, "I kind of hope they never stop embarrassing me."

He smiled, came behind her, pulled her back, and kissed her neck. "Let's embarrass Gracie," he whispered, and Julie craned her neck to kiss his lips.

"Inappropriate!" Gracie shouted.


	17. Getting to Know You

"I can't believe you're a vegetarian, too," Julie said with a grin, scooting her wooden chair closer to the table. "My family thinks I'm crazy."

"Must have been hard in Texas," Nate said as he dipped his spoon into his chole palak. "You're right. This place is superb." He took a bite.

"How often are you at home?" she asked. "You seem to travel a lot."

"These filthy rich people," Nate said, "They – "

" – You mean people like you?"

"No. I'm not filthy rich. I've only got a light layer of dirt by comparison. " He smiled, grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket, and shook the material as though dusting himself off. Julie laughed. "But these guys with the huge accounts," he continued, "they like to see me in person. I can expense all the travel, so…" He shrugged. "It's a way to visit the major cities. I've got one client here, two old money guys in New York, an oil man in Houston, a dot com kid in Seattle, a rich widow in L.A. - "

"- I bet she thinks you're cute."

"She loves to pinch my cheeks."

"Which cheeks?" Juilie asked with a smirk before taking a sip of water.

Nate raised a finger and wagged it in a warning way with a smile that reminded Julie of her father.

"Did you get the client in Philly?" she asked.

"Nah," he said, and when he said _nah_ like that, he sounded just like their dad. "But that's okay. He seemed like he'd be a pain in the ass to work for."

"So, do you have a mansion in Maryland?"

"I'm actually in D.C. now. I've been wanting to move there for awhile, but, you know, my mom was sick. So I lived with her, helped her out around the house that last year. Then I had to manage the estate sale, sell the house, find a new place…"

"I'm really sorry for your loss," Julie said, and she was. She was sorry this likeable young man before her had suffered, but she was also somewhat glad Nate hadn't found their father while his mother was still alive.

Nate shrugged. "It was a long time coming. I got used to the idea before it happened."

"You can never be used to the idea of losing your own mother."

"Yeah," he muttered and toyed with his food. "Anyway," he said, looking up from his plate, "I just have a small condo there, near DuPont Circle. One bedroom and a study."

Julie smirked. "Probably cost you as much as my parent's house in Dillon did."

"Probably more," Nate said, and grinned. "It does have a doorman."

They talked about movies next, and Julie was pleased to discover that he had recently watched an art film she also enjoyed. "My dad – our dad," she said, "makes fun of me for watching that stuff."

"We should catch a movie next time I'm in town."

Julie invited him to crash on their loveseat in the loft, but he already had a room reserved at the downtown Marriot.

"Guess you don't want to pick up a chick and bring her back to the loft, huh?"

"I don't pick up strangers," he said.

"Do you have a steady girlfriend?"

"No." He took hold of the check and put his credit card on top of it. It was black. She'd never seen a black credit card before. "This is going on the expense account."

"At least come by the loft for a beer tonight," she said.

Julie hoped maybe Matt could manage to sell Nate some of his art, but no matter how many times she poked him in the ribs, or nodded to one of his many works strewn about the loft, he didn't even try. He just chatted with Nate about what it had been like to be a pizza delivery boy, since Nate had done that work from the age of 16 to 17 himself, while he was teaching himself about finance and investing his mother's money. "I invested every one of my delivery tips," he told Matt. "And all of my lawn mowing money, too."

"Yeah…" Matt said. "I used mine to help pay the utilities."

"I'm not saying I didn't have a leg up in life," Nate told him, setting his beer bottle down on the chest in front of the loveseat. Julie was next to him, and Matt was on a kitchen chair he'd brought out to their living area. It wasn't really a living room, per se. "My mom made good money once she was a principal and especially that last year she worked as an assistant superintendent, before the cancer got too much to deal with. But I wasn't exactly born with a silver spoon in my mouth, either. My mom was a teacher for years. And like you, I didn't have a dad around."

"Yeah, well, your dad didn't know you existed," Matt said. "With mine...it was more like he didn't care."

Julie reached over and put a hand on Matt's knee. His old wound would flare up like this sometimes. She wondered if men ever really got past their daddy issues. Her own father certainly seemed to have his; he only called her grandfather twice a year.

"Does sound like you didn't have the idyllic childhood," Nate said, "but, hey, look what you've got now." He motioned to Julie.

Matt smiled. "Yeah." He chuckled. "I definitely scored in that department."

[*]

The bells on the gallery door jingled. Matt looked up from his sketch. Sunday mornings were slow. He didn't know why the owner insisted on opening at 10 AM, when nothing nearby opened until noon. As the new manager, he'd suggested revising the operating hours to save on labor, but then the owner had just suggested Matt supply the labor himself. He was salaried now, and so he wasn't getting anything extra for it, but he did use the quiet downtime to work on his own art. There was a studio in the back. Today, however, he was just doing some pencil sketches at the front counter.

Nate entered the gallery. His long, black London Fog overcoat fell to his ankles. It wasn't yet winter. In fact, it was only September, but sometimes the Chicago wind could be cool, and it had been raining this morning. Matt was disappointed to see him, not because he didn't like his half-brother-in-law, but because he'd been hoping for a real customer, not someone who was probably dropping by to say goodbye.

"Hey," Matt said to Nate. "Flying back to D.C. soon?"

"Not until the evening," Nate said. "I'm going to meet a guy for lunch at the Ethiopian place next door in a while. Thought I'd stop in." He began wandering around the empty gallery.

Every now and then, he'd stop in front of a piece of art and then make a phone call. After about thirty minutes of this, he came over to the front desk where Matt was sketching and said, "You should draw more naked women."

"What?" Matt asked as he looked up from his pencil drawing of a hand drawing itself.

"Naked women sell better than hands. Trust me, most men prefer a naked woman to a hand."

Matt chuckled. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind."

"I want that black turd sculpture."

"What?"

Nate jerked a thumb behind himself. "That one that looks like a giant black turd."

"Uh…you mean, the one titled _The People Rise_?"

"Yeah. The turd." Nate reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Who carried a checkbook anymore? He started writing out a check to the gallery. "Says $800 on the card. How much to ship it?"

"The artist says it symbolizes the unity of the races," Matt explained. "A sphere like the globe, but a distorted sphere, because we've damaged the earth. It's not really black. It's all kinds of shades of brown, like people are - "

" - It's a black turd. How much for shipping?"

"$50." Matt smiled. "Okay. It does kind of look like a turd. I never really liked it. Why do you want it?"

"Do you know the artist personally?" Nate asked cautiously.

"No."

"Good, because he's about to die. Which means the sculpture will go up in value."

"And you know this because…all the phone calls? You were hiring someone to off him?"

Nate laughed. "No, but that would make a great thriller novel, wouldn't it? I was calling my assistant to do some research for me. The artist is on life support. Drug overdose. Yesterday afternoon." He ripped the check off and set it in front of Matt.

"Damn, you're mercenary." Matt opened the cash register.

"Well, you just took my check."

"Point taken." Matt slid the check into the register. "We don't usually take checks, but I'll trust you're good for it." He closed the register.

Nate slid a card across the countertop. "You can send the turd to that address. That's my assistant. He'll store it for me until I can sell it again."

[*]

"I don't want to see that kind of behavior on my practice field ever again," Coach Taylor told the quarterback who sat across from him, slumped in the chair. "I don't care if you _are_ the best player on this team. I don't care if your father runs the booster club. I _will_ bench you."

"Yes, sir," the kid muttered. He glanced up at the painting hanging on the wall. "It won't happen again."

"Go on, now."

His player slinked out and, just as he left, the phone rang. "Coach Taylor," he answered.

"Hey, this is your...uh...this is Nate."

"Hello, - " He was about to say son, but stopped himself. It was hard not to call Nate his son, when he called nearly every young man his son.

"Hello."

"Hello," Eric repeated.

"Hey."

"What can I do you for?" That sounded weird, Eric thought. Nate was probably not calling for a favor.

"Uh...I'm going to be in New York next week, couple of days. Then I'm going to drive back home to D.C. - "

"- I thought you lived in Maryland."

"I moved. I'll e-mail you the new address if you want."

"Sure," Eric said, though he wasn't sure what he needed the address for. Christmas was coming up in three months. Was he supposed to send a Christmas present? What could he get this kid that Nate couldn't just buy for himself whenever he wanted?

"Anyway, since I'll be driving back...Philadelphia is on the way. I'll probably hit it around noon. Thought maybe..."

"Lunch?" Eric asked.

"Yeah. Next Thursday?"

It was football season. That was a weekday. The day before game night. But he didn't want to turn this kid down. "I have a 25 minute lunch break starting at 11:55. But then I have my free period right after that." He'd have to take some extra work home with him. "So, I'll have an hour and twenty minutes. Think you can pick me up at my school?"

Nate agreed, Eric told him where the school was located, and said, "We'll go some place that doesn't just have bacon vegetables this time."


	18. No Comparison

_"Well I don't know if now's the time to think about futures given that the STIR across the G12 country currencies…"_

Coach Taylor looked absently out the window as the radio droned on. The Ferrari accelerated and then smoothly took the next curve in the road. The kid had picked him up at Pemberton High, and they were headed for lunch.

 _"The thing is, Robbie, we're talking about call options-"_

"Exactly," Nate muttered at the radio. "If stocks go down you're going to wish you had that put option."

Coach Taylor turned his head from the road to Nate. His puzzled eyes remained hidden beneath dark sunglasses.

 _"And that's why we're talking about underlying security here today on Financial Talk. Now- "_

"I don't guess you ever listen to Sports Radio?" Coach Taylor asked.

Nate took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at his father. He motioned to the screen in the dashboard. "Go ahead and find what you want."

Coach Taylor looked at the screen, the buttons, the words running across the screen. He had no idea how to use this damn thing. He looked back at Nate, who had his eyes on the road but his attention clearly attuned to the financial news. "Come on!" Nate was saying to the radio. "You've got to buy at that point. That's precisely when you want to buy!"

Eric wondered if he sounded that strange to his wife and daughters when he talked back to the sportscasters on the radio.

[*]

When they were at a casual restaurant that was reputed for having both excellent hamburgers and superb veggie burgers, Eric asked, "So you don't," he motioned to the decadent pictures of meat on the inside of the menu, "eat this stuff just because you grew up that way? Or do you personally have moral objections?"

"I don't judge you - for the burger you're about to eat or anything else either."

After they'd ordered, Eric's cell phone buzzed. He dismissed the call. A minute later, it buzzed again. He dismissed it again.

It buzzed again.

"Sounds like you better take that or the caller will never stop," Nate said.

"Sorry," Eric muttered and answered. "Hey, Buddy."

Buddy asked if Eric could secure some especially good seats for an upcoming Philadelphia Eagles game for a bar supplier he was trying to do business with. "Why don't you just find a local supplier?" Eric asked.

"My customers want more diverse brands, Eric. I'm running a refined establishment here."

"At Buddy's?"

"I've made a few changes. I'm trying to corner the upscale market."

"The upscale _Dillon_ market?"

"It exists, Eric, believe it or not, and it's expanding. They just put in a Barnes N' Noble at that strip mall with the movie theater. And an Olive Garden."

"Well, I don't know why you think I have those connections, to get you good Eagles tickets like that."

While Buddy talked on, Eric couldn't help but think of the man's affair a few years ago. He didn't understand what had driven Buddy to cheat. He and Pam weren't having any major problems that Eric could see. Buddy just seemed to think cheating was no big deal.

Even less did Eric understand how Buddy had behaved in the wake of the affair. Eric hadn't been discovered like Buddy – he'd confessed. He hadn't dismissed the strength of Tami's reaction – he'd braced himself for it. He hadn't waited for things to "blow over" – he'd resolved to do whatever was required to salvage his marriage and reassure Tami – and yet when Buddy left the Taylor house that day a few years back in the aftermath of his own affair, he just stood there, saying so nonchalantly – "Pam will forgive me," like it was that easy, like he didn't have to do anything, or do it over and over again, for years.

Buddy had seemed entirely unaware that this wasn't just a blip in his marriage, that it wasn't just a passing disturbance. He had seemed entirely ignorant of the fact that if he didn't act, and act now, and act deliberately, and act consistently, he would lose everything. Everything. And that man had kids.

Buddy had buried his head in football, like an ostrich in the sand – blind – and Eric had told him – "You need to worry about your family, man." He'd wanted to reach out and grab Buddy around the neck, shake him, shout, "Wake up! Just wake up! Before it's too late."

Maybe he should have. Maybe if he'd had the courage to share his own experience, he could have helped to prevent that family from dissolving. But it was more than shame and fear that made him terse; he couldn't do that to Tami, reveal their past, reveal her confidence, to Buddy of all people. And even if he had, he doubted it would have made a difference. Buddy had left swearing his fidelity – his _fidelity_ \- to the _Panthers_.

"Buddy," Eric interrupted the man now, "I can't help you and I've got to go now. I'm having lunch with someone, and I'm being rude."

When Eric hung up the phone, Nate said, "I can get him good seats."

"You?" The kid who didn't know when football season started? "You've got connections?"

"I've got money. You don't need connections if you've got money. And I've got an assistant who helps me get anything I need."

"Is your assistant pretty?" Once Eric had asked the question, he regretted it. That had probably sounded creepy. He was quite possibly starting to sound as if he was thinking of pretty young women all the time, when he was really just trying to gauge Nate's taste in women, because the kid had not mentioned a single girlfriend.

"I wouldn't call him _pretty_ ," Nate replied with a light smirk. "But I suppose _he's_ handsome enough."

Eric chuckled. "Sorry. Just assumed. My wife would scold me for my sexism." He leaned back in his chair as the waitress put their drinks on the table. "Julie told me you bought some art at Matt's gallery when you were in Chicago." She'd lamented that Nate had bought none of Matt's own pieces. "You like art?"

"I like it when it appreciates in value."

"And do you think my son-in-law's art will appreciate in value? I think it's pretty good."

"It _is_ pretty good. That's got almost nothing to do with the value of art, though." Nate sipped his ice tea and set it down. "For instance, I bought this sculpture from his gallery that looks like a giant turd."

Eric chuckled.

"I mean, that's precisely what it looks like," Nate continued. "It's got some other name, and it's got some fancy, esoteric explanation behind it, but, essentially, it's a giant, black turd. Now, Matt's art is way more impressive than that. But this turd….this turd is going to be worth twice what I bought it for when I sell it."

"How do you know that?"

"Because the artist has a couple of other more popular sculptures. They're shit, too, but they're popular shit."

"You mean they also look like turds?"

"No, I'm using the term metaphorically now."

"Ah."

"So the artist has some popular pieces, even if the giant turd is not among them. And he's died now, so his catalogue won't grow. People will be looking for the older, previously less popular pieces. And they'll be willing to pay."

Eric frowned. "That's morbid."

"That's business."

"You've got a conscience, right?" Eric smiled when he said it, like it was a joke, but he asked it a little nervously.

"If it makes you feel any better, I plan to donate the money to cancer research when I sell it." He sipped his iced tea. "You know, in honor of my mom."

Eric was relieved that the waitress chose that moment to put their food on the table. He didn't want to talk about Nate's mother. Nate took the tomato off his veggie burger.

"So is there anything Matt can do to make his art more valuable?" Eric asked him between bites. "Besides dying. Because I don't like that approach."

"I don't know the whims of the art world. I buy from time to time, but I can't read that like I can the stock market."

Eric shook his head. "Well, maybe Matt'll have a break through some day."

"He deserves to," Nate agreed. "But I advised him to paint family portraits. He could make a living doing that. He thought it might damage his reputation though."

"You spent a lot of time with Matt and Julie in Chicago?"

"Hung out at the loft a bit. Julie's smart."

Eric nodded. "What music do you like?" He was reeling for some point of connection, _any_ point of connection. It seemed Julie had managed to connect with Nate. Why couldn't he?

"Classical. My uncle played in the Maryland Symphony Orchestra, so I grew up going to concerts. He's retired from that now."

"I once pretended to like classical music for a girl I was dating," Eric said, "when I was a junior in high school." That relationship had lasted half the year, until his family moved that June. His father had wanted to get him on a better football team so he would have a greater chance to catch the eye of college recruiters. He'd broken up with the girl before the move - he still liked her, but he wasn't precisely in love, and he didn't see the point of trying to maintain a long distance relationship in high school. She'd cried, and he'd felt like a jerk, but she was already dating someone else before his moving truck pulled out of the driveway a week later.

Eric had noticed Tami his second day at the new school, and he'd fallen for her at first sight - he wasn't sure why, exactly, but he knew it had something to do with her smile and the way she'd stepped in to stop a bunch of snobby cheerleaders from ridiculing an overweight girl during gym class. His class had been shooting hoops, while hers was running the periphery of the gym, when he'd witnessed it. He'd never seen a gorgeous girl do that before, defend someone unpopular. That could have injured her own popularity, but Tami clearly hadn't cared. She'd been going steady with Mo, though, so Eric had just admired her from a distance for awhile. She was bold and confident and beautiful but at the same time innately kind, strangely sensitive, and powerfully passionate. He'd never met anyone quite like her, and he felt that Mo didn't deserve such a unique creature, especially since Eric had once stumbled upon him making out with another girl at a football party. Slowly and subtly, Eric began trying to win Tami away.

"After a while," he told Nate, "I actually started to like it."

"What's your favorite symphony?"

"Uh…." He said he'd started to like it. He didn't say he'd paid attention to the details. "Beethoven's 9th." That was the first...okay, the only... one that came immediately to mind.

"It is considered one of the best compositions in the western canon," Nate said.

"What other music do you like?" Julie had said they liked some of the same bands. Not that Eric would be familiar with any of that music either.

"Honestly, there's not much I don't like," Nate told him.

"Country?" Maybe they could talk about that.

"Except country."

[*]

"How was your lunch date with Nate?" Tami asked Eric when Gracie had cleared her plate to the sink and left to watch television.

Eric flinched as though she'd just held fire to his face. He was afraid, she knew, of poking the wound. "You know," she told him, "you not talking about him is worse. When you're open with me, when we're sharing every part of our lives...that's when I'm most secure."

"A'ight." He nodded. "It went well. We talked about art and classical music."

Tami laughed. "You did not."

He smiled. "As a matter of fact, we did." He rose from the circular kitchen table in the breakfast nook - they only used the dining room when entertaining guests - and went and grabbed a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. Tami cleared and washed their dishes while he opened it and poured.

They sat back down across from each other. This was their time, when they could manage it, when Tami wasn't working late to catch up on applications, or when Eric didn't have a late practice or a booster's meeting or a coach's meeting. They tried to make their kitchen table date night happen at least once a week, even during football season or admissions season. They were lucky that the major admission deadlines at Braemore were January 1, November 30, and May 1. There wasn't too much overlap between football season, spring training, and the admission seasons, though December would get tricky if the Pioneers made it to state this year.

Typically, the Taylors took turns fielding Gracie throughout the year. Someone was usually home for her by 4:30 PM, though she did go home with Piper for at least an hour after school, and Eric took most of his summer off until training started. They found camps when they had to, and little Gracie had been to several week-long camps over the past couple of years - Art Camp, Gymnastics Camp, Rock Climbing Camp, Tae Kwon Do Camp, Girl Scout Camp - Tami couldn't remember them all. Eric had tried to talk the girl into Flag Football Camp, but to no avail.

Tami sipped the chardonnay Eric had just poured. He told her a little more about his conversation with Nate.

"If you continue to develop a relationship with him," Tami said. "Eventually we're going to have to tell Gracie something."

"Let's cross that bridge if and when we come to it. I'm not bringing him around the house."

"Yet," she said. Tami was curious to meet the young man, but she hadn't asked to be introduced yet, and she wasn't sure if it was a good idea. If she saw him, would he look like the other woman? She couldn't remember what that woman looked like, in that photo on the high school wall, but perhaps seeing Nate would bring it all back.

"We've had lunch twice in three months, Tami. We've exchanged a few e-mails. I don't see it going much deeper than that." When he said the next words, Tami could hear the disappointment tinge his voice. "We don't have much in common."

"It might go deeper than that with Matt and Julie though. I think they're becoming….friends."

"Like I said, let's cross that bridge if and when we come to it."

She shrugged. He was right. Why worry now? They had enough to deal with, and she couldn't begin to think how they were going to explain Nate to Gracie.

"I talked to Buddy today." He told her about that exchange.

"I have to admit, I'm kind of glad you don't have a Buddy here in Philadelphia." Coach Clarence Washington was Eric's closest friend here. The boosters were less involved than they had been in Dillon, more on the periphery, and other than occasionally invited one or two to dinner, or seeing them at a banquet or fundraising event, Eric didn't interact with them much. They weren't out on his field, giving him directions, or lingering in the bleachers. "I like that you keep better company here, you know, a man like Clarence, who doesn't cheat on his wife."

Eric stiffened. "Clarence isn't married," he said.

The man's wife had died six years ago, and he dated, occasionally, but he didn't seem interested in marrying again. "But if he was," Tami said, " I don't see him pulling a Buddy."

When Buddy had ended up on their couch after Pam kicked him out, a little bit of the old pain and anger had been dredged up. Tami had been short with Eric in the days to come, and she hadn't been in the mood to have sex with him during that time, but seeing how casually Buddy was acting had also made her appreciate Eric's past efforts to heal their marriage more.

"Or an Eric?" he asked cautiously. She could see the shame flicker in his eyes.

"No comparison," she told him, and he relaxed.

"Tell me about your day," he said. "I want to hear what great things Dean Taylor accomplished today."

Perhaps she was feeling just a little irritation at him, because she told him something she didn't need to, or at least in a way she didn't need to tell him: "Dr. Kattan brought me flowers."

Eric sat forward. "What?"

She regretted prodding him, and said, nonchalantly, "The entire admission committee chipped in for them as a thank you for my streamlining of the interview process so they didn't have to put in as many hours. He just delivered them."

"Why him?"

She really shouldn't have done that, she thought. It had been petty. "His office is closest to mine."

"Closer than the assistant dean's, which is in the same building?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, hon. He just dropped them off and said they were from everyone. He didn't come on to me or anything like that."

Eric shifted in his chair. He put a hand on the table top and drummed his fingertips. "I don't like that guy. He's...there's a word for it. I don't know what the word is, but there's a word for it."

Tami chuckled. Eric was cute when he was ruffled, and any irritation she may have been feeling faded. "Want me to buy you a word-a-day calendar this Christmas, sugar?"

"I bet Dr. Kattan would know the word," he grumbled. "He knows a lot of words. Uses them too."

"You know a lot of words, too, Eric," she said, suddenly filled with affection for him, her man, her husband, who was eager to impress her. She shot him a warm smile over her wine glass. "Words you're good at exhibiting - words like conscience and compassion and character."

Her compliment softened him. "I know another C word I'm good at exhibiting." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Or good at _performing_ , if you prefer a more accurate word choice."

She chuckled.

"What? Aren't I?"

"You do have talent in that area," she admitted.

"I miss the South," he said.

"Already, sugar? You just visited three nights ago."

"Yes, but a gentleman never grows tired of it."

She laughed, sipped her wine, and said, "Is it time to put Gracie to bed?"

"It's 7:15."

"Maybe we could tuck her in an hour early tonight."


	19. It's Time

"You got something from Nate in the mail today," Tami said as soon as Eric got home from his away game. She couldn't go because of a work meeting, but she'd waited up for him. It was midnight.

He put his bag on one of the kitchen chairs, and Tami motioned to the Fed Ex envelope on the table. She was sitting with her laptop open and a glass of wine to the side. "How was your game?"

"We lost by six points less than last year."

"That's good, hon. I'm proud of you."

"Uh-huh." He ripped open the envelope. "Why did he send these to me?" he wondered aloud. "I gave him Buddy's address. I – Oh!"

Tami stopped typing and looked up. "What?"

"These are for us, babe. These are season passes. For the Philadelphia Eagles' entire season. Well, for the rest of it. And look! Look at these seats!" He turned the passes toward her and pointed to a line. His face was one huge smile, and it made her smile.

"Well, I guess you're going to some games with your son."

His smile faded. He shook his head. "Nah." He showed her the note, which said, "Thought you and your wife might like these. You said you love to go to games with her."

"Doesn't mean he doesn't want you to take him to at least one," Tami said.

Eric slumped down in a chair that didn't have his bag on it. "Nah." He pulled his dark green cap off and set it on the table. "He's too busy. He's never in Philly more than a couple of hours. And he doesn't like football anyway."

"Oh, babe," she said softly and came over and caressed his cheek.

"It's okay, he said. "It is what it is. It's just…never mind."

"Tell me. It's okay to talk to me about Nate. I can handle it. And I want to know what's going on," she lay a hand over his heart, "in there."

"It's just…I never had a chance to be his father. I missed out on building a relationship with him, and now…there's nothing there. There isn't going to be anything there."

"There could be."

He shook his head. "He and I both know that's not going to happen." He sighed. "We're not really family. We're blood, but we're not family."

She kissed him. "I wish I could do something to help."

"You help," he said, burying a hand in her hair. He kissed her softly and whispered, "You help just by being you. Thank you."

She took his bag out of the chair next to him and sat. "I want to meet him," she said. "Have Nate here for coffee next time he's in town."

"Tami, I don't think that's a good idea. At all. We're in a good place right now, you and I. I don't want to tear off that scab again."

"I know you don't," Tami said, "and I understand how you feel, but it's what I've decided."

Eric took her hand on the table. "Tami, please, listen – "

"- If he's going to be a part of your life, then I don't want to be a complete outsider. I don't want to be outside your life in any way. That's not good for our marriage either."

He tugged on her hand, pulled her into his lap, and kissed her tenderly. "I want you inside, babe. I just don't want you hurt."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. She kissed him. "It's time," she said. "It's time for me to meet him."

[*]

Tami and Eric sat at the circular kitchen table, with Gracie between them. Her face contorted with confusion. "Huh," she puffed, and her bangs, which were these days a lightly golden brown, floated upward in the air. "So...how did Daddy have a baby with someone else?"

Gracie knew about sex, or at least the rough outline. She'd asked an awful lot of questions at the end of first grade, and Tami had finally just sat her down and given her an overview. She hadn't expected to broach the topic so soon; Julie hadn't asked that many questions until fourth grade.

Eric's hand tightened around Tami's own. They'd agreed not to go into the subject of the affair. They thought if they were deliberately vague with the timeline, it might not be an issue.

"Well," Tami told her, "Daddy had a short relationship with Nate's mother, but now he's with me. Daddy and I have been together for a very long time, and we are going to be together until one of us dies."

"Is one of you dying?" Gracie asked with alarm.

"No, sweet pea," Eric said. "We're both in good health. And even if one of us dies, that doesn't mean the other one would remarry."

"I'd probably remarry," Tami said, and Eric's eyes widened. "But neither of us is dying anytime soon, Gracie Belle."

"Good," Gracie said. "Because the daddy-daughter dance is coming up. And there's the mom-and-me Girl Scout camp next summer!"

"I'll be taking you to the dance, sweet pea," Eric said.

"And I'll be taking you to your camp." Tami glanced at Eric and, when they caught each other's eyes, they had to suppress their laughter. Kids could be strangely selfish when it came to their concerns.

Both returned their attention to Gracie. "So this young man Nate is your half-brother," Tami told her, "but we didn't know about him until recently. He's a grown-up now and he has his own life, so we're not going to see him that often. But you'll meet him next Saturday when he comes to the house for lunch." Arrangements had been made. Tami was planning a vegetarian lasagna, which had been one of Julie's favorite dishes. "So we wanted you to know. You're a big girl, and very mature for your age, and we thought you could handle it."

"So….was daddy married to this Nate man's mommy?"

Tami glanced at Eric. He swallowed. "We weren't ever married," Eric told her.

"Mommy said I shouldn't make a baby unless I'm married." Gracie wiggled in her seat, shifting from side to side and swinging one leg. "She said it's stupid."

Tami thought she had framed that bit of advice far more subtlety and less judgmentally than that, but she supposed her nuance was lost on Gracie.

"Mommy is right," Eric told her. "But I did something stupid. I shouldn't have done it."

"It's okay, Daddy," Gracie chirped. "Everyone makes mistakes."

Eric swallowed. He looked at Tami, and his eyes told her, "I know this was far more than a mistake. I'm sorry." Her eyes replied, "I know."

"The smartest thing is not to make a baby unless you're married," Eric told Gracie. "And even then you should wait until you're stable."

"What do you mean stable?" Gracie asked. Before he could answer, she grabbed the back of the chair and lowered herself sideways off of it, so that her head was almost touching the tile floor.

"Gracie, would you please sit properly?" Tami asked.

Gracie pulled herself back up into the chair.

"By stable," Eric said. "I mean it's best that you wait until you've finished college and you've had a job for a bit and saved some money. And until you know your marriage is strong."

Gracie pretended to flex a muscle. "Strong!" she said. "Not that kind of strong?"

"No, not that kind of strong," Tami told her. "The kind of strong where you and your husband get along well and you - "

"Why would I marry someone if I didn't get along well with him?"

Tami chuckled. She looked at Eric.

"Well," he said, "sometimes you get along when you get married, but - "

Gracie did her sideways bridge off the chair again.

"Gracie, sit up!" Eric muttered. Tami could tell he was losing patience. He usually got this way after the second chair slide. It took Tami three. They'd had a few calls from teachers, but they'd both agreed - no medication, not yet anyway.

"Can I go play on my swing set?" Gracie asked as she sat up.

"Do," Tami told her, and she was off like a shot.

"That wasn't so bad," Eric said.

"No," Tami agreed. "But some day she's going to do the math."


	20. Back-up Husbands

When Tami came to bed from the master bathroom, Eric was lying on his back, his head propped up on two pillows, reading a biography. Tami could just make out the name on the cover.

"Who is Jim Thorpe?" she asked as she crawled under the comforter. She loved the heavy feel of the fabric settling around her. It was October, and a Pennsylvania October was nothing like a Texas October. But when temperatures dropped at night, she couldn't bring herself to turn on the heater she never turned on until December in Texas. Besides, it was more fun to snuggle with Eric and put her cold feet on his legs and make him squirm.

"Only one of the greatest football players of all time!" He looked at her as though she'd just asked who Barack Obama was.

"Well, I don't know _all_ the football players, hon. Did he play for the Cowboys?"

"No," he said, shutting the book and laying it on the nightstand, but leaving the bedside lamp on. "He played in the early 1900s. College and professionl. He played baseball and basketball too. _And_ he won two Olympic gold medals."

"Quite the renaissance man," she said, rolling to her side and settling her head on the thin fabric of his old Panthers t-shirt, the one he'd gotten his first season as head coach. He was never getting rid of that thing, though it had been buried deep in his dresser during the Lions years. "Like you."

"What? I only played football and baseball. And I wasn't very good at the baseball."

"But you're a man of many talents." She kissed his cheek.

"Hmmm….." he murmured, and slid down a bit and rolled to face her. He kissed her playfully. "Which of those talents would you like me to display tonight?"

"You're listening talent. You're such a good listener, sugar."

He sighed and rolled onto his back, an arm bent and slung over his head. "A'ight. Go on. I'm listening."

She talked about her day and about how the provost was blocking her agenda yet again. It felt good to get all this off her chest. "He just blows hot and cold," she muttered, "hot and cold. I wish he'd pick one or the other. I'd almost rather he be an enemy all the time than be unpredictable! Why is he like that?"

"Here's the problem, Tami. He _knows_ you're right, but he doesn't want to give you too much credit or support, because he's afraid you're going to take his job one day."

"What? Why would he be afraid of that?"

"Well, let's see…." Eric said, "You fill in for the assistant principal at Dillon High during summer school for a few weeks, and the next thing you know, they end up giving you the principal's job."

"Only because he retired."

"I'm sure you weren't the first one waiting in line for that job.'

"I _wasn't_ waiting in line for that job," she said. "I was surprised when they offered me it."

"Exactly. Then you go to interview for the assistant dean's position at Braemore, and you end up taking the dean's position. You really can't imagine why the provost might be intimidated by you?"

She lifted her head from his chest and peered at him. "Are _you_ intimidated by me?"

"I'm pretty sure you're not taking my job."

She propped herself up on one elbow. "I have no interest in being a provost," she said. "And no qualifications either."

"So? You didn't have any qual - " he stopped. "So it was a tough day, huh?"

"What were you going to say? That I didn't have any qualifications to be a principal or a dean, either?"

"Nah, I wasn't going to say that."

She rolled her eyes. "I think you were."

"Tami, listen, you were a guidance counselor, and then suddenly you were the principal of a major high school. You don't think that's remarkable? it would be like if they made me manager of the Eagles."

"It would not be like if they made you manager of the Eagles. It would be more like if they made you Athletic Director of East Dillon. Which they _did_."

"Yeah, but I was completely over my head in that position. I ended up pawning off half the work. You excelled as a principal, and you're excelling as dean. You're amazing. That's all I'm saying, babe, that you're absolutely, incredibly, indescribably - amazing."

She chuckled and lay her head back down on his chest. "Okay, I'm appeased."

"Good." He was quiet for a while. She would have thought he was asleep if not for the lazy circles he had begun to make with his fingertips on her bare, upper arm.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I'm wondering who your backup husband is."

"What?" she pulled her head away and propped herself up on her elbow again so she could look at him.

"Well, you sure seemed certain that you're going to get remarried if I die first. You just threw that one out there to Gracie, like maybe you've thought about it."

She shot him her poor-pitiful-Eric pout, but she couldn't keep it from turning into a teasing smile. "Back-up husband?" she asked.

"Yeah. You got someone in mind to serve as my replacement?"

"Well, you know, I'm just practical, hon. I have to have a contingency plan for every situation. You know me. The ultimate realist. Cool logic. No passion. That's how I operate."

"Like hell."

She slapped his shoulder lightly. Then she massaged it for a moment. He had lovely, broad shoulders. And she did love to see him ruffled...not _too_ ruffled...but just the right amount of ruffled. "I've got a list," she teased.

"A list?" he asked. "An entire _list_ of back-up husbands?"

"Well, honey, I can't know who's still going to be available when you kick the bucket."

"Mhmhm. And who's currently first in the line-up? And don't tell me it's that pompous ass of a professor, because you can do way better than him."

"Dr. Kattan? No. He's not even on the list, sugar."

"So who then? Who are you going to bring up from the bench when I'm out of the game?"

Tami fished through her mind for an unlikely candidate with which to tease him. "James Deacon Taylor."

"You mean my cousin Jimmy?"

"Uh-huh. _James Deacon,'"_ she said in a sultry voice.

"What? Jimmy's a baby! You're at least ten years older than him."

"That made a lot of difference when I was twenty-five, sugar, but not so much now. I'm very attractive for my age, you know."

He chuckled. "I do know. But _Jimmy_?"

"He's very good-looking." She fluttered her eyelashes. "He's got those sideburns. Looks just like Elvis."

"He still acts like he's 21." He laughed to himself. "You know who he'd be good for?"

"Who?"

"Shelley."

Tami smiled. "They are a lot alike."

"That would be one hot mess right there. You know he's been divorced three times already."

"Shelley's broken up with eleven boyfriends," Tami reminded him.

"I don't think she broke up with all of them."

"Fair enough."

He rolled onto his side, pulled her close against his chest, and kissed her. "I'll never marry again if you die."

"Really? You'll just be lonely and sexually frustrated?"

"Tami, babe, I'll be lonely without you no matter who I'm with." He kissed her again. "And I'm already sexually frustrated. Right. Now."

"You poor, pitiful, thing." She slid her hand down over his chest to his boxers and snaked her fingers in through the half opened flap. He closed his eyes and murmured. She kissed his ear and cheek and chin while she toyed with him. Eric slid a hand under her night shirt and slipped a finger beneath the edge of her panties. She opened her legs for him. "You gonna make me forget all about Jimmy, sugar?" she asked, just before he crushed her lips with his own and rolled her beneath himself.

[*]

"So get a good night's rest," Coach Taylor announced to his players, a hand on each of his hips, "eat a hearty breakfast, and I'll see y'all in the locker room ready to suit up and review plays an hour before tomorrow's game. If we win this one, we're well on our way to the play-offs, gentlemen."

There was a general animalistic hurrah as his players rose and grabbed their bags. Lockers were smacked by palms. As the last one trailed out, Coach Washington told him, "Some guy named Nate called earlier. I left his number on your desk."

Eric made his way to the office. The number on the notepad was not Nate's cell phone. Eric settled into his chair, rolled forward, and made the call.

"Hello," a male voice answered. "Sanderson residence."

"Uh...I'm trying to reach Nate Sanderson?"

"One moment." The sound was muffled.

"Do you have a butler?" Eric asked when Nate came on the phone.

Nate laughed. "No, not much room for a butler in this condo. That's my personal assistant. We were just going over some accounts. I had my hands full, so he answered."

"I didn't know anyone your age still had a landline."

"I'm a bit old-fashioned about some things."

Well, Eric thought, they had that much in common at least. "My wife and I used those season passes last weekend," he told Nate. "Great seats. Thank you again."

"You're welcome."

"Maybe, uh...you and I could go to a game sometime?" Eric ventured.

"Uh...football's not really my thing."

"Yeah," Eric muttered. He bopped the spring-rigged head of pioneer sitting on his desk, and the head bobbed back and forth maniacally. "I knew that."

"I'm glad you're enjoying the tickets though. And I'll be passing through town Sunday on my way home from New York. Thought maybe we could meet for lunch again."

"Well, my wife would really like to have you over to our house. She makes an amazing Sunday brunch, and she can do it vegetarian style for you." There was an awkward silence at the other end of the line. "Nate?"

"Your wife….she doesn't mind meeting me?"

"She _wants_ to meet you. We've been very open about….everything. She's the most important part of my life, so, if you want to get to know me," not that he was sure how much Nate _did_ want to get to know him, "you would...uh...do well to get to know my better half."

"That's very kind of her."

"So...what do you think? Would you like to come for lunch?"

"I...I just don't want to step on any toes. I don't want to impose."

"It would be no imposition. We've, uh...told our youngest daughter about you. Not the details, of course, but about your existence. We thought if Julie knew, she should know too."

"I guess that makes sense," Nate said. "Gracie, right?"

"Yeah. So you'll come?"

The silence was uncomfortable. Nate seemed to be reeling for an excuse _not_ to come. Eric was about to retract the invitation and suggest that the two of them simply meet at a restaurant when Nate said, "Well, I should be in your area around noon, if that works."

"Noon's perfect."


	21. Truth and Lies

Through the living room window, Tami saw the red Ferrari ease into a spot along the curb and announced that Nate was here. She trailed after Eric to the front door, and as he unlatched the deadbolt, she wondered if she'd made a mistake asking to meet Eric's son. What would the young man look like? Like Eric, or like… _her_? The _other_ woman?

Eric opened the door. Nate wore black suit pants and a white button down shirt, but it looked as if he'd shed his tie and jacket in his car before coming to the door. He held a bunch of yellow carnations in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. Nate looked at Eric's navy suit and red tie and at Tami in her dress and said, "I'm the one who's overdressed for a change?"

"We just got home from church," Eric explained.

Tami flashed the smile she used for public consumption at cocktail parties. "I kicked off my high heels at least."

As Nate stepped inside, Eric introduced them. Tami searched the young man's face. His features did not recall that long ago forgotten photo. She saw a bit of Eric, but mostly she thought of Julie. Nate extended the carnations without quite meeting her eyes. It must be awkward for him, Tami realized, to meet the woman whose marriage his mother had almost helped to ruin.

She took the flowers and thanked him. "I love carnations," she told him. "And yellow is my favorite color."

"Your husband mentioned that the last time we met."

Tami smiled at Eric. She wondered how that factoid had arisen in conversation. "Well, it was very thoughtful of you, Nate." Her counselor's mind reviewed everything Eric and Julie had told her about him; she thought of the season passes and the flowers and decided that perhaps the young man used gifts as a safe attempt to connect with others. She wondered if he had been a gift giver even in his childhood, before he had much money of his own. Tami had once read a book called _The Five Love Languages_. She'd decided Eric's love language was "words of affirmation." She thought she had two or three herself. But Nate's was probably gift giving. She filed that assessment away.

They passed through the living room, where Gracie was drawing a map of an imaginary world she'd invented. The girl stood and said, "You must be my half-brother." She held out her hand.

Nate smiled slightly and shook. "I must be."

"It's totally weird."

"At least partially weird," he agreed as he held out the shopping bag to her. "Julie said you liked board games."

Gracie's eyes twinkled, and she grabbed the bag and pulled out a tin with a picture of a tower on it and the name Forbidden Island. "Never heard of it."

"Gracie!" Eric scolded.

"I didn't say I didn't _want_ it," she defended herself. "I just said I never _heard_ of it."

"It's a cooperative game," Nate told her. "You can play it with your parents. You all have to work together to keep the island from sinking. I play it with my cousin. He's about two years older than you. He loves it."

"Thanks," Gracie said. "Looks cool."

Tami invited Nate to the kitchen for coffee while brunch warmed. As Nate followed, he glanced over his shoulder to see Eric examining the new board game. Tami could tell Nate was alarmed that Eric wasn't immediately following, and that he was about to be alone with her. Eric had, however, promised to give Tami some time alone with the young man.

"He'll be along," Tami told Nate as she led him down the hall and into the kitchen. "Eric said you do eat eggs?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled. "I didn't know they said _yes, ma'am_ outside of Texas."

"I don't know if...It's just how I was raised."

Tami turned on the oven light and peered inside. She had assembled a vegetable egg casserole before leaving for church and was now heating it, along with Gracie's favorite: cinnamon rolls. The rolls were almost ready. A bowl of fresh mixed melon rested on the table. She'd decided to have Sunday brunch where the family ate - in the small kitchen nook - rather than in the formal dining room. She thought it might make Nate feel more at ease and less on display, but he appeared plenty nervous as she offered him a cup of coffee and asked him to sit.

He fumbled with the handle of his cup and took a small sip. "Excellent coffee, Mrs. Taylor."

"Well, I slaved over it," she said. "I had to measure the grounds and press the on button and everything."

He smiled hesitantly and took another sip.

"So you're a financial advisor?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. And you're the Dean of Admissions at Braemore?"

She nodded. How could she put this young man at ease? She decided to ask him about a topic she knew interested him: finance. "Eric said you had some idea about refinancing our mortgage."

Nate came alive as he began to talk about how much they could save. She asked him a series of questions, to get him talking more. "Do you have a pen and paper?" he asked. Tami got him one, and he ran some numbers for her. He talked about fixed and variable rates and then went into how interest rates are determined. Halfway through something about the Federal Reserve he stopped talking and said, "I'm sorry. I get carried away. I'm boring you, I'm sure."

He _was_ boring her, but she lied and said, "No, it's very interesting, how that all works. Eric says you're self-taught?"

"Not entirely. I've taken a class here or there. I've taken certification tests. I have some letters after my name, you know, so people will take me seriously."

"I know what that's like. I get strange looks as a dean, sometimes, when people find out I don't have a Ph.D., especially in a position like that, in academia."

"Sometimes life experience is a better teacher than the classroom," Nate said.

"I've certainly learned a lot from my life." She was shot through by a sudden pang of memory, that day in the counseling room, the session after Eric had revealed the affair:

 _They were supposed to be picking up from the last session, when they had talked about trying to practice radical honesty, as well as about how their upbringings had made them fear intimacy in different ways. But a bomb had been dropped since that session. So, instead, Tami told the counselor abut the affair Eric had revealed to her. Then, as calmly as she could manage, she announced, "I think I want a divorce."_

" _Please, Tami," Eric begged, "give me a second chance. It's over with her, I swear. I ended it."_

 _"I don't care if it's over! I care that it happened! And how can I believe you anyway?"_

 _The counselor extended a hand in her direction, a calm-down gesture. "Tami, you're understandably hurt and angry, but don't rush into anything. Don't assume divorce will make you happier than you are at this moment, that it will end the pain."_

 _"It will end me having to see his face every day!"_

 _Eric shifted in his chair, his features flickering with mixed flames of shame and anger. "Fine!" he hissed. "Leave me again!"_

 _Tami stared at him, anger morphing into fear and then back into anger._

 _The counselor did not interrupt as Eric continued:_ _"It's obvious you haven't thought I was good enough for you ever since I didn't make it to the NFL."_

 _Tami looked at the counselor, as thought to say 'Can you believe this?', but the counselor said nothing. He let Eric's emotions unravel in front of her, in a way they might not have in another setting: "So go ahead and leave me! Just don't leave me hanging this time, like you did the last two times."_

 _Tami looked back at him and blinked. "What?"_

 _Eric shook his head. "You think I'm a puppy, don't you? A puppy you can play with when you're in the mood, and kick to the curb when you're not. It's not the first time you left me. You broke up with me our first year of college too, and for what? What did I do?"_

 _"I explained that to you, that it wasn't about you, that I just needed to be without a boyfriend for once. I went straight from Johnny to Mo, and straight from Mo to you. I never had a chance to figure out what my own dreams were, what **my** plans were. I was always building them around someone else. That breakup wasn't about you." _

_"And you didn't care if that left me reeling from a broken heart, because you knew I'd still be there if you decided you wanted me back."_

 _"I didn't **know** that." She'd expected him to see other girls, to revel in his hour of freedom, to enjoy the variety his popularity afforded him. She'd been surprised to learn he'd been turning down offers, and flattered that he was apparently pining for her. She hadn't been able to stay away from him for more than four weeks. Even if she hadn't exactly found herself in that short time, she'd at lteast realized how serious he was about her. "Not **then**. But I believed it when I left for Dallas, because we were **married**. I didn't think you'd ever..." she choked. _

_Eric looked down at the office carpet. "I didn't think I ever would either."_

 _"Why did you?" she cried._

 _"I wish I knew. I wish I had a reason."_

 _"You had reasons, Eric," the counselor said. "Not **justifications** , but reasons. And part of what we need to do here, if Tami is willing, is to explore the reasons why you both do the things you've done in this relationship."_

 _"Tami?" Eric asked._

 _She breathed in. She could feel the anxiety, like a tourniquet on her heart. "Counseling is a bunch of bullshit," she muttered._

 _"Please." Eric's voice was thick with a dozen emotions. "Can we just try it?"_

 _Tami didn't want to look into the hazel pools of his eyes, but she did. He looked so broken. She **felt** so broken. __"Three months," she told him. "I'll give the counseling three months. That's all I can promise you."_

Nate set down the pen he'd been using to write numbers. He looked a little ill, and she thought he must somehow sense that she was thinking of that dark time. "Please don't hate her," he said quietly, as his fingertips rested on the notepad and his eyes focused on the numbers. "She was a good mother to me. She didn't...she didn't set out to be a homewrecker."

'Well then maybe she shouldn't have invited my husband to her bed,' Tami thought, but she said nothing.

"She regretted it," Nate continued. "That's why she never told your husband about me. Or me about him. She wanted to give him a chance to fix your marriage. It really surprised me when she made that deathbed confession, because….she's not…wasn't….she wasn't like that." He clenched his teeth, the way Eric did when he was upset, though Eric usually did it when he was irritated, and Nate, Tami could tell, was doing it to hold back tears. "Not to me."

Whatever anger Tami might have felt melted beneath the heat of her compassion. She'd almost forgotten this boy had recently lost his mother, his only parent – at least, the only parent he'd ever known.

"Oh, honey," Tami said. "I forgave her a long time ago." It wasn't entirely true. She'd mostly just forgotten the woman, buried her in a flood of happy years, but the truth didn't matter right now.

Nate slid his fingers off the notepad. "He talks about you constantly, you know, your husband. My…father. He's proud of you, grateful for you. I can tell. I've never heard a man talk about his wife like that."

"Really?" Tami asked.

"I guess I don't have a lot of good marriages to look to in my family." He looked up from the table now and actually dared to meet her eyes. "My mom never married. One of my uncles is divorced. The other one always seems to be on the verge of divorce. I haven't seen a lot of successful relationships. When I started to try to track down my biological father, honestly, I just assumed you two wouldn't still be together. And when I found out you were, I thought maybe I shouldn't introduce myself to him."

"You had to have been curious," Tami said.

"I hope I didn't….that I didn't cause any trouble."

"No, honey," she said, even if that, too, was a partial lie.

He swallowed and looked around the kitchen. The oven beeped. "I guess you should get that," he said. "Can I help?"

"No," she said standing and heading for the oven. "You're _our_ guest, Nate. I think you're going to love this casserole. I hope so anyway."

Eric walked through the doorframe of the kitchen, Gracie on his heels. "Something smells fantastic," he said.


	22. Teamwork

Nate complimented Tami on the meal for a second time.

"Thank you, Nate. It's nice to have someone appreciate my cooking."

"I said it was good, too," Eric insisted.

Gracie did one of her rapid wiggles on her chair. Then she settled somewhat still and cocked her head at Nate. "Are you married?"

Nate shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I'm barely 24."

"My sister's only 22, and _she's_ married," Gracie observed.

"Well, Julie married a little young, Gracie," Tami told her. "Lots of people don't get married until around 30 these days."

"Hmmm…." Gracie said. "Well, I'm getting married when I'm 18."

Eric choked a little on his food and washed it down with his water while Nate grinned.

"Either that, or I'm _**never**_ getting married at all," Gracie said.

"Not much for moderation, are you?" Nate asked.

"What does moderation mean?"

"Something that's not all or nothing," Nate told her.

"Are you ever going to get married?" Gracie asked. When Nate shrugged, she said, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Gracie!" Eric scolded her.

Nate sipped his water.

"You're good-looking and you give nice presents," Gracie said. "And daddy says you're rich."

"Gracie!" Tami was the one to scold this time.

"My friend Piper's mom says girls like rich boys," Gracie concluded.

Tami shot her a warning look and held up a finger, which, Gracie _should_ know, would mean she was losing electronics if she continued down this line.

Gracie lowered her head and frowned. "Sorry," she said. "I'm ADHD."

"Don't use that as an excuse," Eric told her.

"Liking a guy's wallet is not the same as liking a guy," Nate told Gracie. "When you have a lot of money, it's hard to tell, sometimes, why people like you. That's one of the downsides."

"I could live with that," Gracie said.

Nate chuckled. He looked a lot younger, Tami thought, when he was smiling - less serious, more his age, and more real, somehow.

"You could always disguise yourself as a pauper," Eric suggested.

"A pauper?" Nate asked.

"Like in that story. The fairy tale. What am I thinking about?" he asked Tami.

"The Prince and the Pauper. Though it's not really a fairly tale. More like a satire and social commentary on wealth inequality."

"See, this is why I need her," Eric said. "Otherwise I never know what I'm thinking."

"That's hardly the only reason you need me, hon."

After lunch, Gracie begged the family to play the game Nate had given her.

"Y'all go set it up," Tami told her, "while I clean up."

Nate volunteered to help, but Tami shooed him out. Eric, however, lingered. He cleared the dishes to the sink and swept the floor while she washed. When she was done, and had just turned off the water, he pulled her to himself and kissed her. "Thank you," he whispered.

"So you liked the egg casserole, even without the bacon and sausage?" she teased.

"Not for that! I mean, you're cooking was fantastic as usual, but...thank you for welcoming Nate. I know it can't be easy for you." He put a finger under her chin, tilted her head up, and kissed her softly again. Then he searched her eyes. "How are you? You doing a'ight?"

She nodded. "I'm fine, hon, really. It does touch on some bad memories, but, you know, thinking about that time...it's almost like an out of body experience. Like that wasn't really me. Like that wasn't really you."

"It wasn't really _us_ ," he said, and pulled her into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head. " _This_ is us."

She smiled against his scratchy dress shirt. He'd taken off the jacket and tie. She pulled away. "What's with that car, do you think?"

Eric looked befuddled. "What car?"

"Nate's car. I mean, it's a little flashy, don't you think? Nate seems like a pretty down-to-earth kid. Why would he drive something like that?"

"Because he can."

"But it's so…in-your-face," she said. "He was very practical about all the financial advice he was giving me. And that car is extremely impractical. I just don't understand. Why would he buy it?"

"Because it's a Ferrari. And because…it's awesome."

Tami's eyes twinkled. "Coach Taylor, did _you_ really just use the word awesome?"

"Well, words fail me in this particular instance."

She laughed. "You wouldn't buy something like that just because you could, would you?"

"Tami, baby, you know I always planned to buy a sports car when I made it to the NFL."

"You told me you would never buy an impractical car like that."

"Oh...yeah...That's right. I was just going to buy you lots and lots of diamonds."

"Well, you gave me two jewels. Who knows, maybe a third. I like Nate. I just wish he were _ours_."

She saw the guilt flicker across his eyes. He'd never fully forgiven himself, but that was perhaps the price of a sensitive conscience, and she was glad he had one.

"Tami," he said, "what's mine is yours."

From the living room drifted Gracie's cry, "Mom! Dad! The game is ready!"

When they got to the living room, Gracie was on her knees on one side of the coffee table, and Nate was sitting cross-legged on the floor on the other side. Tiles with pictures had been laid out in a square. There were four objects, and some playing pieces. Eric and Tami sat beside one another on the couch on an open side of the table.

"So," Nate explained, gesturing to the tiles, "We take turns, but we work as a team."

Eric took Tami's hand. "Sounds a bit like a marriage," he said.

"We have to collect all four of these treasures," he pointed to the objects, "get to Fool's Landing, and take off together in the helicopter before the island sinks. If we do, we win."

"Where do we go when we take off?" Gracie asked.

Nate smiled. "Anywhere we can imagine."

[*]

"No, no, no!" Gracie insisted. "Daddy, don't use the helicopter lift for that. I'm the pilot. You move to be with Mom on the Cliffs of Abandon."

"But the tidal palace has a trophy."

"It's not a trophy, Daddy. It's a chalice! And if you shore up and move to Mom, and you _stay_ with Mom, we can probably get out of here alive. Because I can get the trophy on my turn, and then move you and Mom, and then Nate can move to us on his turn, and since I'm the pilot, I can take you all to the helicopter lift, and we can use your helicopter card to take off."

Eric looked at the board, which was much smaller now than when they started. "It bothers me a little bit that my seven year old is smarter than I am."

Tami put an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "We did make a good one," she said, and then felt a little awkward about saying it, since also sitting there was the one _they_ did not make. She caught Nate's eyes.

He looked down at the board.

"We're going to be all right," Tami said. "We're all going to get off this island together."

They beat the game, and Nate stood and stretched. He glanced at his cell phone, which had just buzzed. "Sorry," he said. "Have to take this." Nate put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Joshua. Yeah. No, I'm getting ready to leave, but I probably won't make it back in time for that play. Can you give my ticket to someone else?" There was a pause. "That bad? Might as well kill some more time here so I'm not sitting in traffic the whole time, at least." Another pause. "Yeah, you too." When he hung up, he looked at Eric. "That was my assistant. There's been a huge accident right where I need to get on the beltway. If I leave now it'll take me forever to get home. You maybe want to hang out a little more?" He took his keys out of his pocket and dangled them before Eric, "Maybe want to drive my Ferrari?"

Eric ginned. "Hell yeah!"

"25 cents in the swear jar," Gracie said.

Eric grabbed his hat and sunglasses off the entertainment center.

"Just don't go over the speed limit, hon," Tami warned him.

Nate and Eric looked at each other and laughed, and that was the moment when Tami saw the striking resemblance.

"Yes, ma'am," said Nate. "I'll see that he doesn't."

Eric and Nate were both guffawing when the front door closed.


	23. A Chance to Bloom

"Be warned," Nate said ominously. "I'm watching the speedometer."

Eric accelerated the Ferrari. "I love my wife dearly, but even she has her flaws." He shook his head. "You ever have a girlfriend who was a back seat driver?"

"Can't say I have."

"Seriously?" Eric asked. He'd never had one who _wasn't._

"Your wife thinks my car's too flashy, doesn't she?"

"Nah. She just thinks it doesn't suit you, that you're a down-to-earth guy at heart. And she's probably right. She can size someone up in under ten minutes."

"Well…she has a point, but…were you popular in high school?"

Eric slowed to a stop at a light. "Yeah, I guess."

"Bustling social life?"

"I had girlfriends," Eric told him. "I mean, one at a time. One or two a year. I wasn't a playboy. I don't know if I've...uh...given you that impression." He kept his eyes fixed on the light.

"You haven't. But, in high school, you dated girls and hung out with the team," Nate said, "went to the school dances, partied with the guys, all that sort of thing?"

"Yeah, sure." The light turned green and Eric got up to a little past the speed limit as quickly as he could. He was enjoying the feel of the car, but he wasn't going to overdo it, not in a 35-mph zone. Maybe when they got on the local highway, he'd kick it up a notch. "But I had a part-time job. And football. And my father grounded me anytime I got less than a B. So I didn't have a lot of time to socialize. And I've never been a social butterfly. You can ask my wife."

Eric thought his introversion sometimes bothered Tami, who pushed him to go out more often than he wanted to. Just a week ago, she'd been complaining that they needed more "couple friends," but it was hard to have "couple friends" when half of one couple just wanted to stay home and watch game tape "all the ever-loving time."

"Well, looks like she's got that angle covered for the unit," Nate said.

"Yeah, she's my mouthpiece at the cocktail parties." He'd had more than his fair share of those these past couple of years. They used to just have to go to the football-related ones, to schmooze with the boosters, but now they had to go to the Braemore ones too, so Tami could schmooze with the egg heads. Eric made a turn and then asked, "So, what are you saying? You didn't have a social life in high school?"

"Not really," Nate told him. "I never dated in high school. At all. And the guys mocked me."

"Why?"

Nate leaned his head against the window. "Lots of reasons I guess."

"Such as?"

"I didn't play any sport. I wasn't in as good a shape as I am now. I was kind of pudgy, and I had a serious acne problem. I was the geeky kid who loved numbers. And I was, I am…"

Eric glanced at him when he trailed off and then returned his attention to the road. "You are what?"

"I just didn't belong. Not in high school. I do have friends _now_. But in high school...I was an outsider."

Eric eased to another stop. He rested his hand on the gear shift. "And this car is your retribution?"

"Sure beats shooting up a school."

Eric furrowed his brow.

"Sorry," Nate muttered. "People say I have a morbid sense of humor."

"Now that's something my generation never dealt with. Half the guys I knew had rifles in their pick-ups in the school parking lot, and no one ever shot up a school. My cousin Gary shot my brother in the foot once though." He revved the engine as he saw the opposite light turn red and took off on green.

"You have a brother?"

Eric gritted his teeth. Thoughts of Ray, Jr. had flitted across his mind from time to time, but this was the first time in over a decade he'd felt anything like a pang. Maybe it was because he'd been emotionally raw lately, but his gut seized in on itself for just a moment. "He died," Eric said. "Toward the end of Vietnam."

"Vietnam? You're not that old are you?"

"He was eleven years older than me." Eric pushed the car a little faster than he should have, perhaps, but they were on a two lane local highway now. "I was in second grade when he died." If Ray, Jr. had gotten that football scholarship their father had _expected_ him to earn, he would have been in college, instead of looking to pay his way through school by signing up. They weren't drafting anyone by then, the draft had ended in 1973, so he would have been safe in college.

"Sorry for your loss."

"It was a long time ago. Your loss is hell of a lot more recent. With your mother. And I'm sorry I never told you sorry about that." He passed a car and pulled back into the right lane.

"Can I ask you something?"

Eric didn't like the sound of the question. He was pretty sure whatever Nate was about to ask would be uncomfortable to answer. "Sure," he said anyway.

"Did you love her? My mother? I mean, I know you loved your wife, that you went back to her, and it's seems clear you two are committed, but did you love my mother? Back then?"

Eric was glad he'd put on his sunglasses before they got in this car. "I loved the way she made me feel about myself, at a time when I was feeling worthless. But that's not love, no. I was just selfish."

"My mom said you were lost."

Eric swallowed. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"She said she was, too."

Eric thought of the last time he'd seen Cassie.

 _The day after Tami called to say she was flying back from Dallas, he pushed through his student teaching and avoided Cassie in the teacher's lounge, but then he walked her to her car on the way out._

 _"_ _You following me home?" she asked._

 _"No."_

 _"That's what's you said Friday, and you did anyway."_

 _"I shouldn't have. I never should have done any of it."_

 _"That's what you keep saying, but I don't think you mean it. Look, Eric, you're an honorable man."_

 _"Not even remotely."_

 _"You are. But you've known for awhile that your marriage is over. She's been gone for weeks. She hasn't returned a single one of your calls. And your marriage was over even before she was gone. You know it. You told me about all the fights. The things she said to you."_

 _He took a long, shaky breath._

 _"She doesn't appreciate you, Eric, the way I do. You deserve to be appreciated. Who cares if you didn't get drafted to the NFL? You're an excellent teacher. I can tell. The way you picked it up...the way you get those kids to think seriously about - "_

 _"- Stop."_

 _Cassie leaned back against her car._

Eric could hardly remember what color her eyes were, but he remembered that car for some reason, a dull, gray, 1988 Pontiac Sunbird with brakes you had to push real hard. Cassie had once told him, "It's hard to stop this thing, once you get it going. You've got to mean business. You've got to mean it when you push that brake."

 _"Just stop," he said. "We have to stop. We have to stop this."_

 _"You don't want to stop it, Eric."_

 _"I didn't even want to start it."_

 _"Really? Then why did you?"_

 _A fair enough question, to which he didn't have an answer, not then. "Tami called last night. She's coming home. She wants us to go to marriage counseling. She wants to try to make it work. I want to try to make it work, too. I'm going to pick her up from the airport in an hour."_

 _Cassie's face fell, like he'd just told her someone precious had died, and that was when he realized the horrible truth: she loved him. He hadn't guessed until that moment. He hadn't even thought about the possibility. That she admired and desired him was clear enough, but it had not occurred to him that she might actually love him, that she might have envisioned some kind of permanent future with him._

 _"I'm so sorry," he said. "I never meant...she's my wife."_

 _"It's not going to work, Eric." He could hear the the desperation in her voice, the tears somewhere beneath the words. "You can't make it work at this point."_

 _"I love her."_

 _"After the way she treated you?"_

 _"We've been together for four years. She's treated me a lot of ways. She's been a lot of things to me. I've been a lot of things to her. I made a promise to her."_

 _"You broke it."_

 _He bit down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood. "I think...I think we can fix our marriage. I have to try. It's been good before. I think it can be good again."_

 _"We've already got good! Right here, right now!"_

 _"Not - " He didn't say it, what he was thinking, that his best times with Tami had far surpassed anything he and Cassie had shared, that he had never experienced with anyone the kind of exhilaration he could experience with Tami when things were at their best. Before Tami, he hadn't even imagined he could feel that way. In some ways, Tami was like a drug. He'd been in withdraw ever since she left, probably since before she left, since the fighting had started. At some point, he'd settled for a substitute, just to take the edge off._

 _Cassie shook her head. "You think she's still going to want to make it work when she finds out about us?"_

 _Eric felt like he did when he had a fever, weak, weary, and a little sick to his stomach. Cassie was right. What chance did he have with Tami anymore? He'd thrown away any hope of reconciliation, and for what? For three nights of pleasure and a few buckets of water in the dry, empty, yawning well of his ego. "Are you going to tell her?"_

 _Cassie crossed her arms over her chest. She was a good three inches shorter than Tami, and Eric felt strangely, monstrously tall at the moment. Cassie seemed so small there, against the Pontiac Sunbird, the south Texas sun glinting sporadically off the metal like a fading fire. "No, but you will. Eventually, you will. You're just not a liar."_

 _"I'm a cheater."_

 _"How did I do this?" Cassie shook her head. "Why did I do this? How in the hell did I get involved with a married man? Why can't I just find somebody who can love me? What the hell is wrong with me?"_

 _"There's nothing - "_

 _Cassie pushed off the car and jerked open the door. He stepped back. Standing between the car and the door, she whirled to face him. "Don't try coming back to me when it doesn't work out. I'm not you. When someone walks out on me, I don't just drop everything and run to them the moment they come back."_

 _He watched her drive off out of the mostly empty staff lot, the brakes of the Pontiac squealing as she partially slowed to make the right turn onto the roadway. It was a Tuesday. Friday was to be the last day of his four-month student teaching internship. He decided right then and there he couldn't come back to school, but Cassie signed the forms anyway, gave him a good evaluation, and sent them on to his advisor. She didn't try to call him, though she had his home number. Even when she found out she was pregnant, apparently, she didn't call him. She picked up the pieces of her shattered heart and left Eric to rebuild his with Tami._

"But she found herself?" Eric asked Nate now.

"She was a good mother. And good at her career. She seemed content. That's all I knew. I don't guess kids ever know their parents deeply, even if they think they do."

"I sure didn't know what was going on inside my father," Eric agreed. "Or my mom, for that matter."

"She was an alcoholic, you said?"

Eric glanced at him. He'd forgotten he'd told the kid that. "My father wasn't an easy man to live with. He wasn't abusive, but he was…" Eric shook his head. "No, he was abusive." The marriage counselor had insisted he admit that much to himself, and admit how it had affected him, his self-esteem, and his willingness (or lack thereof) to be open with others about his fears and flaws. "Verbally," Eric continued. "Still, even so, I'm not sure my mom and I would have been better off without him. We'd have been a lot poorer for sure. I'd have gotten into more trouble, probably. If he hadn't been around….I don't know where I'd be today."

Mr. Taylor's harshness had pushed Eric far enough away that he'd wanted desperately to be a very different sort of father to his own children. Eric had forgiven his father, but there'd been years of anger mixed with love, hatred mixed with the desire to please, too many years he'd spent trying to measure himself by his father's standards rather than his own. He still called the man, three times a year. They exchanged Christmas cards, but Eric had more or less closed that door, and sometimes he wished he hadn't. His father had his own demons, after all, and despite his wrongs, Mr. Taylor had tried, at least, to be a better father than his own father had been.

"We're going to your school?" Nate asked as Eric pulled into an unmarked, paved area along the backside of the large, vacant parking lot.

"Pemberton is one of the few high schools that still offers drivers ed. And this here, son, is where I'm forced to teach it four months of the year." He'd slipped naturally into son again. He hoped it hadn't offended Nate. He glanced at the young man out of the corner of his eye.

"Well," Nate said. "Are we getting the cones, or what?"

Eric smiled. "Oh, we're getting the cones."

"We're doing backwards figure eights, aren't we?"

"Damn right we are," Eric answered.

When they got out of the car, he looked over the hood of the Ferrari at Nate. It felt good to finally be connecting with the kid, and he wasn't quite sure how it had happened. Did it have something to do with the car? Driving was better than eating, he supposed - maybe more shared activities was what they needed. So he ventured, "Hey, you maybe want to go to a football game with me sometime? Use those passes?"

"You maybe want to go to a financial seminar with me?"

"Uh…"

Nate smiled. "I appreciate that you want to spend time with me, but maybe we can manage find something we both like to do?"

Eric nodded. As they walked toward the exterior storage closet where Eric kept the cones, Nate asked, "You like to hike? I mean, the walking through the woods kind of hike. Not that thing they shout in football."

"I like to hike. Haven't done it in awhile, but I like it."

"You probably don't have time though, before it gets really cold. What with football season and all."

"I could make some time. On a Sunday, maybe."

"Sundays are good for me," Nate said as Eric unlocked the closet and began passing him orange cones.

"A'ight then. In two weeks? I've got a home game, so I won't be traveling on the weekend." Not that he had to travel much for away games in Pennsylvania. It wasn't some vast land like Texas, but home games did leave him feeling a little less pressed for time on the weekends. And he needed to buy some hiking boots.

Nate nodded. "Sounds good."

A smile spread across Eric's face. A few months ago, he was afraid his world was going to come apart at its seams, but his family had weathered the storm; their love for one another had held them together; forgiveness had showered him like a spring rain, and now something new and beautiful might have a chance to bloom.


	24. Fellowship

The Saracens had a guest at their tiny kitchen table. A folding chair had been squished in on one side to accommodate Landry Clarke, who was taking a year off between college and law school to play with his new band in bars across America.

"Alt country Christian folk rock? That's some kind of triple oxymoron," Matt insisted.

"You'll understand it when you hear it," Landry assured him.

"I _have_ heard it," Matt replied. "I watched one of those YouTube links you sent me."

"Oh, _one_ ," Landry said. "Of the twenty I sent you? How kind of you."

"He figured it wasn't the same as seeing you in person," Julie said with a smile.

"And did you _get_ the music?" Landry asked.

"About as well as you get my art," Matt told him.

Landry rolled his eyes.

"So you're really just taking an entire year off to do nothing but the band?" Julie asked.

"I need one last hurrah before I buckle down and hit the books again. I won't have much time for music in law school."

"What made you name the band The Communion?" Matt asked.

"Because it's cool, isn't it?" Landry asked.

Matt shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...I think I liked Crucifictorious better."

"That's because you don't understand the alt country folk rock market."

"You making any money?" Matt asked.

"About as much as you are selling your art."

Landry took a bite of the pasta Julie had made them for dinner. "So, this cousin of yours who's coming to hang tonight..." Julie hadn't wanted to explain about her dad's affair, not to Landry, not to anyone, but she and Nate were becoming friends. They texted almost every day now, and he was in Chicago again for business. So she'd told Landry that Nate, who had agreed to join them at the show, was her cousin. "...I don't get how he's your cousin. Your dad has no siblings and I met your aunt Shelley twice. She talks as if she doesn't get her words out a bomb is going to explode, but she never mentioned a kid."

"Uh…" Julie's eyes darted to Matt's.

"Second cousin?" he ventured.

Landry shook his head slowly and half closed his eye lids, in that look of wearied disbelief he'd perfected. "Second cousins come from first cousins, genius."

"Well…uh… " Julie said. "My dad's cousin."

"I'm not buying it," Landry said. "Y'all are acting weird about this Nate guy."

"Fine," Julie said. "Nate's my long-lost half-brother." This would be known sooner or later. Nate had met her mother after all. Even Gracie knew about him.

Landry's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"It's a long story. He was born before me. We have different moms. My dad didn't know he existed until recently."

"I thought your parents were high school sweethearts," Landry said. "Did they not date until after college?"

When Matt saw Julie grit her teeth, he told Landry, "It's complicated. They were separated for a time…that was like a really long time ago, and Mrs. Coach knew, and they worked it out." He looked at Julie cautiously.

"The Taylor Family Drama," Landry said. "Could practically be a night time soap opera. Bricks through windows. Abortion controversies. Surprise pregnancies. Getting fired and hired all the time. Taking underdogs to the state championships. A mystery son showing up. You should write a screenplay."

"Maybe I will," Julie said.

"So what's your brother look like?"

"Kind of like my dad," Julie answered, "but younger of course, and with my eyes instead of my dad's, and his hair is a lighter brown."

"So if he looks like your dad," Landry mused, "I guess he's a hit with the ladies?"

"What are you suggesting?" Julie asked defensively. "You know, my dad's been faithful to my mom for over - "

"- I'm just saying all the teenage girls at East Dillon used to think your dad was hot."

"What?" Julie asked. "He was over twice their age!"

Landry continued, "I used to hear them say things about Coach Taylor like - "

"Ewww!" Julie exclaimed, covering her ears and standing from the table. "I'm going to the bathroom." She retreated.

Matt was somewhere between a laugh and a glare when she left. "You gotta not say that kind of stuff to Julie."

"So I probably shouldn't tell her that half the team used to talk about what a nice rack Mrs. T had either, huh?"

"Hey!" Matt exclaimed. "That's my _mother-in-law_ you're talking about. Besides - " He was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He stood, picked it up, listened, and said, "I'll buzz you in." He held down the number. "And be nice to Nate."

"I'm always nice," said Landry, standing and clearing his dish to the sink. "I'm so nice girls don't want to date me."

"That's not why they don't want to date you," Matt said with an affectionate smile. "Besides, you're still seeing that one chick, that you met at the club in Cincinnati, aren't you?"

"She's dating the drummer now," Landry grumbled. "I don't know how the lead guitarist loses out to the _drummer_. Guess I'm not enough of an asshole."

"Maybe you should broaden your horizons to include nice girls who like nice boys, instead of just trying to date gorgeous, shallow - "

" - What's wrong with wanting a girl whose both nice AND gorgeous," Landry interrupted him. " _You_ got one."

"I don't know how _nice_ Julie is..."

"I heard that!" Julie said, returning just as there was a knock on the door. She opened it to let Nate in. "There's still pasta if you want some," she told him.

"I ate already," he answered as he came inside.

"Nice suit," Landry said. "You planning on trying out for the sequel to 50 Shades of Grey?"

Nate smiled hesitantly. "No, I just came from a client meeting. If I don't look like I make money, they don't think I'm going to make them money. You must be Landry."

"Yeah." Landry extended his hand and they shook.

"I'll loosen up before your concert," Nate said, already loosening his silver tie.

"It's not really a concert. More of a gig. At a big bar."

"Well, I listened to one of your songs on Youtube when Julie told me what you guys were doing tonight."

" _You guys_?" Landry said. "Guess you didn't grow up in Texas?"

"No, D.C. metro area. In Maryland. I live at Dupont Circle now. Anyway, it was pretty good, the song. I liked the lyrics. Subtle. Clever. Are you the band's writer?"

"Yeah. I am," Landry said, clearly pleased by the rare compliment to his music.

Julie invited them to the living room, where she and Matt took up the loveseat and Landry sat on one of the two folding chairs. Nate took off his jacket and tie and draped them on the back of the other folding chair before sitting down.

"Julie says you're a financial guru," Landry said. "You ever finance bands?"

"Uh...not really my area of expertise. But I'll buy a CD at the show tonight."

"Well then maybe we'll actually sell three instead of our usual two."

Nate chuckled. He and Landry talked for a while about music. When there was a lull in the conversation, Julie asked, "Dad said you guys are going hiking next Sunday?"

Nate shot a startled look at Landry.

"It's okay," Julie said. "He knows we're not cousins. I decided not to use that story."

Nate relaxed. "Yeah. It's supposed to be in the low-50s and clear. Should be a good day for it, if the weather doesn't change."

"Coach never took _me_ hiking," Matt muttered.

"I'm sensing a little jealousy here," Landry said.

Matt rolled his eyes.

"I don't know why he'd be jealous of _that_ ," Julie said. "Two hours alone in the woods with my dad is not exactly my idea of a good time. What are you guys going to _talk_ about?"

Nate leaned back in his chair, a barely veiled smirk on his face. "Probably our feelings."

Landry threw back his head and laughed. "Well tell him Lance says hello."

Nate's eyes clouded with confusion. "I thought your name was Landry?"

[*]

"Why are you sitting all the way back here?" Landry protested as Matt, Julie, and Nate pulled out the chairs from a table at the opposite end of the barroom from the stage. "There's plenty of tables upfront still."

"Because I don't want to blow out my ear drums," Julie answered as she sat down.

"You're getting old," Landry told her. "You're like an old married woman now. I bet you go to bed at 9:30."

"10 most nights," Matt replied with a smirk. "But I bet you'd go to bed early too if you actually had something fun to do in bed."

Julie opened the bar menu. Nate sat down next to her, and then Matt sat on the other side.

"Fine," Landry said. "Suit yourselves. But you won't be able to see my subtle guitarmanship from here." He headed back to the stage.

They ordered beer and munchies, and it arrived just as The Communion kicked off its first song. Julie resisted the urge to cover her ears. It was just too loud for the space. After a few songs, though, they switched to a softer folk-like ballad.

"This actually doesn't suck," Matt said as he popped a cheese fry into his mouth.

"Cheese fries never suck," Julie said.

"No, I mean this song."

"Yeah," Nate agreed as he texted with two thumbs. "Landry's voice is okay, and his guitar playing is just decent, but his songwriting is really good."

Landry finished up the song, the band took a break, and he joined the table.

"Good set," Nate said as he picked up his phone to respond to another text.

"Who do you keep texting?" asked Julie, peering over at Nate's phone. "A girl?"

Nate clicked off his phone and set it face down on the table. "No. Just my assistant. There was a water leak at the condo. But he's taking care of it."

"Your assistant does an awful lot of personal stuff for you," Julie said. "I hope you pay him well."

"You should just get a wife," Landry told him. "Then you can get all that and sex too. For free."

"Julie's not exactly free," Matt said.

Julie slapped him on the shoulder.

"Why haven't you gotten yourself a wife, then, if you think they're such a bargain?" Nate asked Landry.

"Well it's in my plan," Landry said. "A couple of years out of law school, when I'm making my $200 grand a year, I'm going to get one of those mail order catalog brides. I'll need someone to have my dinner waiting for me when I get home and to greet me in high heels with a cocktail. American girls are just too high maintenance."

"Is that so?" Julie asked.

"Way too high maintenance," Matt agreed.

Julie turned on her husband and levelled her eyes at him.

"But so are sports cars," Matt said. "And who doesn't want a sports car? Worth every penny."

"We're never getting a sports car," Julie told him.

"I know, because all of my money is going to maintain you."

Landry smirked. "Guess you're not going to bed at 10 tonight."

"One of my uncles did that," Nate told Landry.

"Went to bed at 10?"

"Got a mail order bride. She divorced him five years later, took half of everything. Left him with their kid. Went back to Guatamala."

"Well, once my mail order bride gets a taste of this," Landry said, waving a hand over himself, "She won't be able to walk away."

Nate chuckled. "How many sets are you playing?"

"Two more. And then I have to share a tiny hotel room with my three bandmates."

"We offered to let you sleep on the loveseat," Julie told him.

"Yeah, the loveseat that's a stone's throw from your bedroom. And half my length."

"You can stay with me," Nate told him. "I have two queen beds in my hotel room."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Nah."

Landry nodded. "Cool. It's not every day a guy gets to go home with Richie Rich." He pointed at the table. "I take it you're picking up this entire tab."

"One of the ways I _stay_ well-off is to live below my means, so that I always have money to invest. But, yeah, this one time, I'm picking up the tab."

[*]

"I'm telling you," Matt insisted. "Nate's gay."

Julie's chin was on his chest, and she was looking up at him. They had the thick, plush blanket on. It felt nice and soft and warm on her naked body. They'd just enjoyed a very vigorous round of love making.

"What are you talking about?" Julie asked.

"Has he ever mentioned a girlfriend?"

"Maybe he just doesn't have one at the moment," Julie returned.

"A guy that rich and that good-looking could never go a moment without a girlfriend."

"I don't know...my gaydar never went off with Nate."

"Because Nate's just an unusual guy all around. I bet any kind of detectors would bounce right off of him. But didn't you notice the way he flirted with Landry?"

Julie laughed. "Even if he is gay - and I'm not saying I think he is - "

"- You aren't ruling it out, either."

"Even _if_ he is gay, what makes you think he likes _Landry_?"

"All those compliments about his songwriting."

"All _two_ of them?" Julie asked.

"And he laughed at every one of his jokes."

"Because Landry is funny."

"And that comment he made to you about what a wry sense of humor Landry has?"

"Because Landry _does_ have a wry sense of humour. And so does Nate. So he probably appreciates it," Julie said.

"And then he invited Landry to his _hotel room_ , Julie."

Julie propped herself up on her elbow. The space heater they'd plugged in a few feet from the bed crackled, the coils glowing red. They couldn't afford to keep the central heat up high, not in this loft, but Chicago fall nights were cold. "Landry's straight."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean Nate can't enjoy checking him out. Landry's not a bad-looking dude these days."

Julie raised her eyebrow.

"I mean, not that I notice dudes, but his face has cleared up. He didn't put on any college weight. He's been working out."

Julie shook her head.

"I don't mean Nate's going to come on to him or anything. He can probably tell Landry is straight, and, besides, he already has a boyfriend."

"What are you talking about?" Julie asked. "Where on earth are you getting this idea?"

"The _assistant_?" Matt said. "Who always seems to be at his condo?"

Julie slid closer and draped an arm around his hip. "So what are you saying? He's deep in the closet?"

"Maybe not deep. Maybe he's just private. Maybe all his friends and family know, but we're not in the inner circle yet."

She shook her head. "I don't know…I think you're totally misreading this. He's a busy guy. He travels all the time. He needs his assistant to take care of things. And maybe they're friends too. If he's anything like my dad, he doesn't make friends easily. My dad's best friend is one of his assistant coaches."

"Want to bet? I bet Nate's gay, and he doesn't really _have_ an assistant. His assistant is, like, his stay-at-home wife."

"I bet not."

Matt rolled onto his side with her and cupped her bare breast beneath the heavy blanket. "What do I get if I win?" He squeezed gently.

She swatted his hand away. "What do you mean, what do you get?"

Matt grinned, that wide, Saracen smile. "We should make this bet interesting."

"What do you _want_ if you win?"

"To sketch you naked. _Any_ pose I ask for."

She rolled her eyes. "Like in _Titanic_?"

"No, it would be a different pose. And I'm much more manly than that scrawny guy. But I'd still find a way to fit on the life raft with you."

Julie laughed. "Yeah, and I'd donate the necklace to charity instead of tossing it into the ocean."

"So, do we have a bet?"

"Fine. If Nate turns out to be gay, and his assistant is his boyfriend, I'll let you sketch me naked."

"Really?" He'd been asking for months, but, no matter how vigorous their sex life, Julie was just too shy to sit completely naked beneath his uninterrupted gaze for _that_ long a time, even though he'd assured her he would be "professional."

"Sure," Julie said. "Because Nate **_isn't_** gay. He doesn't act gay."

"How does a gay person act?" Matt asked.

"You know."

He made a tsking sound. "I had no idea you were so unenlightened, Julie Saracen."

She rolled her eyes. "You remember my dad's assistant Coach, that Stan Traub guy?"

"Yeah, he was a fruitcake. In more ways than one. Is that your standard?"

"Well, I don't know a lot of gay guys," she admitted. "I mostly know gay girls."

His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.

"You're having some kind of lesbian fantasy about me right now, aren't you?"

"No," he insisted.

"Who am I pillow fighting?"

He yanked her close, until her breasts were pressed against his chest. She could feel his erection on her thigh. "Me."

She scooted away to tease him. "What do I get if I win the bet?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to sketch _you_ naked."

Matt laughed. "Seriously. What do you want?"

"A baby."

Matt's eyes widened. "What?"

"Just kidding!"

"Damn, Julie. Don't do that. That's not funny. We agreed. Six years."

"Or four."

"No, we agreed six," Matt said.

"We said three to six."

"No. We said _six_ to seven."

Julie laughed.

"Stop trying to freak me out!" He grabbed her, rolled her beneath himself, and started easing her legs apart. She pushed him off.

He rolled on his back. "Okay, what do you want if you win?" he asked.

"I want a thirty minute backrub every day for a month."

"That's a bit much," Matt said, "but I'll agree to it." He smirked. "Since you're going to lose. Because Nate's totally sneaking out on the balcony to call his _assistant_ \- a.k.a. boyfriend - right now. Even as we speak."


	25. Breaking In

"What do you think you're doing?" Tami asked Eric when he walked into the living room.

"Going to church with y'all," he said.

"Not in those boots you're not." She glanced down at the hiking boots he'd bought yesterday, which he'd tried his best to get the legs of his suit trousers over.

"Tami, Nate and I are hiking one week from today. I've got to break them in."

"Not in church, you don't. Break them in. Church," she muttered as she plucked her high heels off the carpet and pulled them on one by one.

"You look very pretty," he said.

"Well you look like a goofball," she replied through her affectionate laughter. "Please just go put on dress shoes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, sweetheart!" she called after him as he clomped down the hall in his hiking boots.

[*]

Julie waited as Nate examined the movie poster she'd pointed out to him. In it, a man stood on a dock, his head hung, the moon full in the background, the water black and rippled, a house burned out on the far horizon. "Nah," Nate said. "Let's watch a comedy. It looks…artsy."

This was new. She thought he liked such films. They'd talked about several via text and in person. "But you _like_ artsy movies," she said.

"Yeah, but Landry said he might want to join us. And he doesn't like this kind of movie. He likes comedies."

"When did you talk to Landry about the movies?" Matt wasn't right, was he? She wasn't about to lose this bet, was she?

"Last night. He said he might join us." He fished his cell phone out of the pocket of his overcoat and looked at the screen. "I think he's still sleeping off his hangover, though. He said he'd text me when he's up."

It was only 10. On the rare occasions when Julie went to the movies, she always caught the first matinee. It saved money and left the day free. She examined Nate. "You don't _like_ him, do you?"

"Landry? Sure. Why not? Don't you? He's your husband's best friend."

"Uh...yeah...sure. I like him." So Matt was wrong. Nate just liked Landry the way she liked Landry - not a shred of attraction there.

"He's smart," Nate said. He smiled. "Funny guy too."

Or maybe Matt _was_ right.

"So can we go to a comedy?" Nate asked.

"Sure."

Nate texted Landry the name and time of the movie, and he and Julie went to grab coffee next door to the theater until it started. Just as Julie was about to sip her cappuccino, Nate's phone buzzed with a text message. He looked down at the screen.

"He can't make it," Nate said, with a tone of disappointment that made Julie think maybe Matt was right after all.

Julie hoped she was misreading this, because now Matt had gotten her seeing things that probably weren't even there. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with that, but she already had someone in mind she wanted to fix Nate up with. She'd run into Lyla Garrity at the _Chicago Sun Times_ last week. Lyla had been in town for an interview for an assistant editor's position, and they'd gone out to lunch. Though they'd never been more than acquaintances in high school, they caught up and reminisced about Dillon, and Julie was impressed and a little jealous. Lyla was already interviewing for an editorial position, when Julie was still slowly finishing her degree and just a part-time proofreader herself. Lyla hadn't even been involved in journalism in high school. Apparently she'd spent the last year working on the _Chattanooga Times_ , however, and she had become editor-in-chief of the _Vanderbilt Hustler_ by her senior year of college. Julie thought that was an odd name for a school newspaper. She was sure Lyla must get a lot of sexual jokes thrown her way when she talked about it. But Lyla had mentioned she was "between boyfriends" (like a man claiming to be "between jobs"), and Julie had immediately thought of Nate.

Her little matchmaking plan wasn't going to have much success if Nate was gay. She nodded over Nate's shoulder at a pretty girl. "That girl over there's totally hot, don't you think?"

Nate turned to follow her gaze. When he looked back at her, he said, "She's kind of thin. I don't know why girls think they need to be that thin."

"So you like a woman with curves?"

His phone buzzed. He looked at the message and texted back.

"Is that Landry again?" Julie asked.

"No, just my assistant."

"He texts you a lot."

"He handles a lot." He put the phone, facing screen down, on the table. "Leak's fixed. Might have to replace the hardwood floors in the dining area, though."

"Do you like having a guy for an assistant better than a girl?"

"I don't guess it matters, as long as they're good at what they do."

 _Maybe Nate's bisexual_ , Julie thought. _Or maybe his assistant is just his assistant and Nate's not talking in code right now, idiot._

Nate glanced at his watch. "Since Landry's not coming, want to just see that art film?"

 **[*]**

Tami sat down on the edge of the bed and peeled off her high heels. Eric sat next to her, kicked off his dress shoes and began undoing his tie. The bedroom door was open, and they could hear the sound of the television drifting down the hallway from the living room, where Gracie was watching a video.

"Don't take that off all the way," Tami insisted.

He left the tie dangling loosely on his neck and smiled expectantly. "Why?"

"I like you in your suit." She stood, peeled off her pantyhose, and tossed them in the laundry basket in the open closet before shutting and locking the bedroom door. She walked seductively toward him, her dark green dress flattering her form and demanding every ounce of his attention. She took hold of one end of his loose, burgundy tie and slid it slowly from his neck.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked.

"Whatever I want." She glanced down at his slightly tented pants. "Already? I haven't even touched you yet."

"It's because I know Sabbath sex is the best sex."

"Even better that victory sex?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's a tie."

"Who said we were even having sex?"

"Don't tease, babe."

"Oh, I don't know..." She pushed with one finger against his shoulder until he lay back on the bed, his legs bent and hanging off the edge. She doubled the tie over and zig zagged it like a feather across his chest and down, down… "I think you like it when I tease."

[*]

Nate and Julie left the film halfway through. "I see why Landry doesn't like art films now," Julie muttered.

"There's artistic," Nate said, "and then there's pretentious."

"We should have stuck with the comedy. You heading to the airport?"

"Yeah. I just have to tell my driver where to pick me up. He's got my stuff." He took out his cell phone to arrange his pick up. They walked and stood at the glass door, just inside, while he waited for his ride. "It was really good seeing you again," he told her.

"You, too," she said. "I kind of wish we'd gotten to grow up together. You could have vetted all my boyfriends."

"Didn't our dad?"

"Yeah, but I might have taken your opinion more seriously."

"Looks like you did pretty well on your own. Matt seems like a stand-up guy."

"He is, but we've had our ups and downs. I wish I hadn't been so stupid sometimes."

"But you figured it out. Like your parents did. A lot of people never figure relationships out."

"Have you figured them out?" Julie asked.

"Not even remotely," he said as he pushed the door open. "I think that's my ride."

[*]

Tami jolted awake when the bedroom door shuddered. It was a moment before she realized someone was knocking.

"Are you done napping?" came Gracie's voice. "The movie's been over for half an hour. You said we'd go out for lunch!"

Tami rolled over and looked at the clock. 12:30 PM. They'd gone to the early service, as they often did during football season. "We'll be out in twenty minutes!" she answered.

Eric stirred beside her. His thick, dark hair was a wild mess, and it made her feel suddenly horny again. His eyelids fluttered open, just a moment, and then fell like weights.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," she told him.

When she got back from the master bathroom, he was still asleep. She slid off the hand towel she'd used to bind up her hair and smacked him lightly with it. "We need to go eat," she said.

He snorted, stirred, and looked at her with one eye open. "I'm taking you out?" he asked.

"I think that's the least you can do to thank me, sugar."

He rolled onto his back and held up his hands. "Can you at least untie me first?"

"I don't know how you managed to fall asleep like that." Tami sat down on the bed and undid the tie from around his wrists.

He pulled her down and kissed her, softly at first and then more deeply, as he unraveled the towel around her chest. Her flesh tingled when he caressed her breasts.

She pulled away, even though her nipples had hardened. "We are _not_ going for two."

"Maybe not _right_ now," he said, "but it's a game of inches. I've got a seriously good offense, and I can see a hole in your defense."

She stood, the towel falling completely off of her. "That hole closed in on you, Coach Taylor, before you could penetrate it." She walked to her dresser, feeling his gaze on her naked flesh, and opened the top drawer.

"I bet you give a scary admissions interview, Dean Taylor."

She stepped into a pair of panties and then, holding her bra, turned to face him. He was sitting up in bed now, watching her, one muscular arm crossed over his chest so he could scratch his right shoulder. God she loved those shoulders, loved to massage them, run her fingers all over the sinews of them, bite down on one when the wave ripped through her. But she couldn't think of that right now. Gracie was waiting for them. She slid on her bra.

"Don't do that, babe. Don't cover those up. Those need to feel the light."

She hooked the bra, a front clasp, slowly and deliberately in front of him. "I'm sorry, Coach, but you're going to have to reapply during the next admission period."

" _Reapply?_ I thought my admission had just been _deferred_."

"Oh, no, you're going to have restart the entire application process, sugar."

She wasn't going to get back in her church dress, not if they were going out to the family-friendly Irish pub, which they usually did on Sundays, so she selected a t-shirt from the dresser and pulled it on. It fit a little tightly across her chest. She liked the hungry look in Eric's eyes as she pulled her jeans on. It felt good to be so deeply desired by her husband, after almost two and a half decades of marriage, after bad hair days and bad mood days, two children, stretch marks, and the first gray hairs.

"Damn, I love you," he muttered.

"I love you too, sugar. Now hurry up and shower and get dressed and take me out to lunch."

[*]

"You're not winning this bet," Julie told Matt over the phone, as she walked from the theater the four blocks to their loft. "He's not gay. He just hasn't figured out relationships. That's what he said. So I want my first backrub tonight."

"You asked if he was gay?" Matt replied. She heard the bells on the gallery door jingle.

"Not directly, no," she admitted.

"Then I'm still right." The muffled voice of a customer drifted through the phone. "I gotta go. This is the woman who showed interest in my sculpture last time."

"Good luck."

[*]

The folk duo at the Irish pub invited Gracie up to the microphone when they heard her singing along, and Tami slid off the wooden seat of the booth to come around to the other side and sit next to Eric so she could watch their daughter. Eric slid his arm around her shoulders. They smiled at one another.

"She's really good," Eric whispered into her ear. "Where'd she get that voice?"

"Are you suggesting I can't sing?" Tami whispered back.

They listened proudly to their daughter and clapped, along with the crowd, when she was done. Gracie literally skipped back to the booth. She slid onto the empty side. "They said I should take voice lesson and improve my gift."

"We'll look into that possibility," Tami told her.

"Can I go play at the park while you finish your beers? It's really nice out! It's not cold!"

Tami looked at Eric. The park was just three storefronts down, between two groups of businesses on this main street of their quiet, safe suburb, and there would be other kids there. Eric shrugged.

"You can run on ahead of us," Tami told Gracie, "but we'll be there in ten to fifteen minutes."

"Hey," Eric said when Gracie jumped up. "What do you do if someone asks you to help him find his puppy?"

"Assume he wants to kidnap me and kick him in the jewels."

"Oh, good Lord," Tami muttered.

"Maybe not immediately," Eric said. "But don't go with him. What if he offers you candy and says it's in his car?"

"Kick him in the - "

"- You know what?" Tami said, and chugged the last three ounces of her pint. "I'm just going to leave now and go with you. Eric, you can stay and pay."

"Does this count as my application fee?" he asked as she followed after the already running Gracie.

When he showed up at the park thirty minutes later and sat down on the bench next to her, she asked, "Get distracted by the game?"

He stretched his arm out across the back of the bench and rested his fingertips on her shoulder. "Little bit. I'm the only one watching football in there. They've got soccer on three of the four TVs."

"I know, but I like that place. I like the hard cider. And the shepherd's pie. They didn't have any Irish pubs in Dillon."

"I know. That's why I take you there." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"She's going to kill herself," Tami said.

Eric followed her gaze to where Gracie was crawling across the top of the monkey bars. "She'll be fine," he assured her. "That girl always lands on her feet."

Tami kicked his boot. "These feeling any looser?"

"A little. Think I'll wear them all week."

"On the field?" she asked. "At practice?"

"I've got to get them broken in."

She chuckled. "You nervous, sugar? About your hiking date with Nate?"

"Little bit," he admitted.

"You said you felt like you started to connect in the Ferrari."

"Yeah, but I don't know what the hell to talk to him about for that long, Tami."

"You could read a finance book. Get some discussion starter ideas. I bought a couple for you."

"You did?"

"Yeah, while you were getting those boots."

"You're the best," he told her, and leaned in and kissed her. He only pulled halfway away. His eyes lingered over hers.

It made her smile, his gaze. "What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking how much I love you. I think I love you more every year."

Her smile trembled.

"I mean it," he whispered.

"I know you do."

"I've gotten better at it? Haven't I?" he asked hopefully. "Loving you?"

She put a hand on his cheek. "Yes. Ten more years, and you'll have perfected it, and then I can let you die and marry one of my back-up husbands."

He chuckled, turned his head, and kissed the palm of her hand. "You don't have any back-up husbands."

She let her hand fall down into his on the bench, and they watched Gracie together. "It _would_ be a lot of bother," Tami said, "trying to break in a new one."

"Like these." He stretched out his legs and lifted his feet.

She looked down at the hiking boots. "They sure are pretty when they're brand new. No scuff marks. No frayed laces. No stains."

"No use," he said "when the trail gets rough." He lowered his boots back to the ground.

"It only hurts for a little while," she said, "breaking them in. And when you think of how many years you'll probably wear them…it's worth it, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," he said, and squeezed her hand tightly.


	26. Uphill Hike

Eric zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His boots were okay now. Broken in enough, he supposed.

"Why does Daddy get to skip church?" Gracie complained. "If Daddy skips church, we get to skip church."

It was 9:30 AM, and Eric had just seen Nate's Ferrari ease to a stop along the curb outside the house. They would take his SUV to Delaware Canal State park for their hike.

"I don't _want_ to skip church," Tami told her. "I _like_ to visit with people at church. Don't you want to see your friends?"

"I gueeeeeesss," Gracie sighed.

Nate knocked at the door. Eric squatted down and hugged Gracie. "You be good for your mama."

"It's not like you're going off to war," Gracie said. "You'll be home by dinner."

"Well I guess I like to think my daughter misses me when I'm gone an entire Sunday."

Gracie put her little arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, Daddy."

He chuckled and stood to receive Tami's kiss. "You have a good time, sugar," she told him as they all headed for the door.

When he opened it, Nate said, "Good morning, Mrs. Taylor."

"Hey, Nate!" Gracie craned her neck as if looking around him for something. Then she looked disappointed.

"I didn't bring any presents this time," he said. "But maybe I'll get you something in the park gift shop."

"You don't need to get her a thing," Tami told him.

"Of course he doesn't _need_ to, Mom, but if he _wants_ to…who am I to say no?"

Nate laughed. When they were in Eric's SUV and heading down the street, Nate said, "That's a precocious kid you've got, you know. Solid vocabulary. Good strategy skills when we played that island game."

"Tell me about it. Got her mother's smarts, I guess."

Nate glanced at him. "You're not smart?"

"I'm not dumb. But I'm not book smart. And I'm not..." Eric made a yak-yak gesture with one hand "...verbal like that." There was silence for a moment before Eric realized that was a discussion starter. "What about you? I guess you're a smart kid. Finance genius and all."

"I guess."

"Oh, go on. You can brag about it," Eric reassured him. "Why not? Guys brag about how good they are at sports all the time."

"Yeah, and it's kind of annoying when guys do that. You should let the achievements speak for themselves."

Eric nodded. "Well put."

"And besides, I was just born smart. It would be like being proud of the color of my eyes."

"You _should_ be proud of those eyes. Those were my mother's eyes."

"I always thought they were my mom's."

Eric glanced at him. "She had _that_ eye color too?"

"Well, a kind of hazel. Not really quite like this. You don't remember?"

"It was a long time ago."

Silence filled the vehicle. Eric turned on sports radio, but said, "If you want, you can put it on that financial station you listen to."

"No. That's okay. I'm sure you're missing a game right now. And the markets are closed anyway."

"I'd much rather be hiking with you than watching a game."

Nate smiled slightly. Eric couldn't tell if the kid was amused because he thought Eric was telling a white lie, or happy because he believed Eric meant it, or just uncomfortable.

Eric was glad when they had parked and begun their uphill journey. It was a gorgeous, clear day, despite Friday's rains. The morning was chilly, and Eric was glad for the thick Pioneers sweatshirt he wore over his long-sleeve Braemore shirt, though he might end up shedding it in another hour.

"Nice boots," Nate told him, glancing down as they walked. They were virtually alone on the trail. There was a single couple farther up, rounding a bend. "They look new."

"Uh…yeah….I needed a new pair," he said, rather than saying he hadn't been hiking since before Gracie was born, when he and Julie and Tami had all gone together to Texas hill country.

They hiked on, talking here and there of nothing significant, but often falling into a not-uncomfortable silence, as the tune of nature played about them, and each turned to his own thoughts.

Nate pointed to an orangish-red bird flying by. "Scarlet Tanager," he said.

"You really know your birds."

"Before I was into money I was into birds," Nate said. "Used to have all the Audobon guide books. And I had these collectors cards. Probably like you collected football cards. I mean, if they have football cards. Do they?"

"Yeah, they do. It's not like baseball, though." Eric looked up as the bird made a dive and flew back the other way. It was such a remarkable color, and it reminded him, suddenly and almost painfully, of the color of the carpet in the marriage counselor's office.

 _Eric was staring at the carpet as Tami spoke. She was seated on one end of the counselor's couch, and he was on the other. The counselor, whose name was John, and who insisted they call him John (Eric would have preferred Dr. McKinley) was in a rolling desk chair, in front of his desk, not behind it. It was their first session, and Eric had not yet told Tami about Cassie._

" _I feel bad for just running out on you like that," Tami said. "I was so immature. Tom helped me to see that."_

 _Eric's heart caught, then beat again. "Who's Tom?" For a moment, he feared she'd cheated, too. Then felt a wave of guilty fear. If the thought of her cheating made his heart stop, what would happen if she ever found out about Cassie?_

" _Shelley's boyfriend."_

" _Oh. Yeah."_

" _You never listen to me when I talk about my sister, do you?"_

" _I'm sorry. I'll listen more."_

" _No, **I'm** sorry," she said. "I snap at you about petty things sometimes, and I don't know why, because the little things don't matter, shouldn't matter, when you have a guy whose good about the big things, and you are, Eric. You've always been reliable. I can count on you. I can __**trust**_ _you. That's what's important."_

 _The carpet seemed to bleed, the orange swirling into the red, the red spiraling back out of the orange._

" _And then I go and…run off like that," Tami continued. "Just because we'd been fighting. When I was the one who spent all that money. It's what my mom did, give me the silent treatment whenever she was upset with me or whenever she didn't want to admit she was the one who was wrong."_

" _We often repeat the patterns of ineffective behavior we learned in childhood," the counselor told her. "And that's something we'll explore in these sessions."_

" _I think I was ashamed, too," Tami said. "All that debt I ran up. I just really thought you were going to make it, Eric, and I don't care that you didn't – "_

" _\- You don't?" asked Eric, surprised, looking up for a moment._

" _No, of course not. I'm disappointed, sure, but…I didn't fall in love with you because you can play football."_

" _But, the stuff…." he muttered. "You got so much stuff. I thought…."_

" _I just really believed you would make it," she said. "Because I believe in you. But I don't need that, Eric. I don't need that stuff. And I was foolish to buy it before we knew. I just…I grew up so poor."_

" _So did I."_

" _No, you were lower middle class," she told him. "It's not the same thing. You know I borrowed my friend's clothes in high school, just so I could look decent."_

" _I didn't. You never told me that. "_

 _"So much of what I had was borrowed, or second hand. And for a while there, when I thought you were going to be in the NFL, I just felt…free. And I went a little crazy. But I don't need all that. I just need stability. And we'll have that. You're going to teach. I can get another receptionist job. We'll be fine, once we get this debt paid off."_

" _That's not going to be as easy as you think, Tami," the counselor told her. "Eric's already been working weekends and some evenings on top of his internship and chipping away at that. But interest adds up quickly. And you quit your job."_

" _I'll get another one."_

" _And left him," the counselor continued. "For weeks. Eric, how did her leaving like that make you feel?"_

 _Eric raised his head slightly to the counselor. He shifted on the couch._

" _You have to be angry."_

" _No," Eric said. "I'm not angry. I was, at first. I'm not angry now. I'm just…I just want things to go back to the way they were."_

" _I don't," Tami said._

 _Eric felt like he had a screwdriver in his heart, intermittently turning and then stopping. Did she know? Had she found out about Cassie? "What?" he asked. "I thought you did! I thought you were coming back because you wanted that. What we had was really good, before the fighting, before – "_

" _\- It_ _ **was**_ _good. But I don't want to go_ _ **back**_ _. I want to go_ _ **forward**_ _. I want it to be even better than it was before the fighting. I want to learn how not to fight like that. We're_ _ **here**_ _so things_ _ **don't**_ _go back to the way they were. So we don't end up separated again."_

" _Oh." Eric looked at her. Her eyes were so bright, so hopeful. God, she was beautiful. And determined. Tami could be unpredictable at times, and that unpredictability could make him feel insecure, but once she was determined about something, she went after it. But would she still want to go after it if she knew what he'd done? "Yeah," he said. "I want that. I want that, too. I'll do anything, Tami. I'll do anything to make it work."_

" _I can't believe you're not more mad at me."_

" _I can't either," said the counselor. "If you do want to move forward, Eric, you need to learn to be honest."_

" _Eric's honest," Tami said. "That's not a problem with him. We found a wallet with $200 once, and he turned it right in. He could have gotten away with cheating on one of our final exams in high school, too, but he didn't. It's actually one of the things that attracted me to him. His honesty."_

 _Eric wondered if she could see his body shaking. Was it shaking? He felt like it was, like the chills when he had the flu. He was going to lose her. If she ever found out, if he ever told, he was going to lose her for good._

" _I'm talking about radical honesty," the counselor said. "When you tell your spouse things – things like how you feel and what you want and what you need – even when you're afraid that telling that truth will upset or anger your spouse. You don't have to pretend it's okay, Eric, that her leaving didn't create some kind of crisis in you internally, because I'm sure it did. You have to be honest about your feelings with Tami. About your fear and your anger. You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable."_

" _Let it out, sugar," Tami said. "Tell me how angry you are at me."_

" _No, it's okay," Eric insisted. "It's okay. I just want to…I just want to work on this marriage."_

 _The counselor shook his head. "Eric, you have - "_

"- to check this out!"

Nate had climbed up a rock and was motioning to Eric. He joined the kid, scrambling ungracefully to the top, and feeling a bit winded when he got there. This kid might not play sports, but he was only a little over half Eric's age. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up.

On the other side of the rock was a valley, with several deer, including two fawn. "Cool, huh?" Nate asked.

"Beautiful," Eric agreed with a smile.

"A whole family," Nate said.

"Not quite. No buck."

"Two adult."

"Both doe. Not exactly an entire family."

Nate frowned, and Eric got the impression he'd said something to offend him, but he had no idea what. The kid turned and Eric followed him cautiously down the rock. By the time they were at the bottom, the cloud in Nate's features seemed to have lifted. "I figure we'll just go to the top of the trail, break for lunch, and then loop around down the other side. Then it's just a short walk along a paved trail back to where we parked. Another two hours maybe."

 _Another_ two hours? This kid was in better shape than Eric realized. "You hike a lot?"

"No, just once a week."

"Oh. Well, uh, I'm gonna need a little water break I think. Sit a minute?"

"Sure," Nate said and walked over to a low flat rock and dropped his backpack.

Eric joined him and pulled out his water bottle.

Nate sipped his own. "You getting tired? We can turn around, head back, shave off an hour."

"Nah, no," Eric insisted. "I'll be good. I'm just not as young as I used to be."

"We can take more breaks." Nate grinned. "So that's why people call their fathers _old man_."

"If I had ever called my father that, I'd have gotten the backside of his old man's hand."

"He do that a lot?" Nate asked.

"No. Maybe two or three times. Then again, that was all it took."

"What did your dad do? For a living?"

"He dropped out of high school to play in the minor leagues, didn't get anywhere with it, ended up working as a ranch hand. Runs his own ranch now though. Well, his wife's ranch."

At least Eric's father had never expected him to shovel manure or toss hay bales. Mr. Taylor had much higher expectations for his sons, and he never asked Eric to come and help him like the other ranch hands made their sons do. Instead, he encouraged Eric to study, work out, watch game reels at the coach's office, train, practice, volunteer to assistant coach the junior Pee Wee kids, _and_ work part-time at the local law office, typing and filing forms and keeping his hands clean. That's how Eric had gotten to know Tami better than he could around school, where Mo was always within an arm's length of her. She worked as a receptionist in the accounting office that shared a lobby with the law offices, and he'd find her as often as he could by the water cooler. Sometimes he'd just come in and sit in the chair across from her receptionists desk and joke with her. He wasn't normally talkative, but somehow he could just banter with Tami. She made him laugh and made him think and she was always surprising him with the things she knew that he didn't expect her to know. He thought Mo was the luckiest guy in school.

"Minor leagues? I thought that was for baseball? Isn't it?" Nate's tone was full of self-doubt.

"Yeah. He played minor league baseball for four years."

"So then how'd you get into football?"

"Because I was horrible at baseball. My dad didn't care what sport we played as long as we were good and we were going somewhere. My dad played football, too, in high school. He just got farther with the baseball. Eventually had to quit to make more money, though. Minors take a lot of time and don't pay much. He blamed my mom for not making it to the majors, for getting pregnant with my older brother."

"He wasn't the one who got her pregnant?"

"No, he was, but my dad was never to blame for anything."

Nate nodded. "One of my uncles is like that." He sipped his water. "The other one is cool though. He was like a father to me. Never had kids of his own."

"I'm glad you had that." Eric wanted to say he was sorry he couldn't have _been_ that for Nate, but he wasn't sure how Nate would take that.

"I wonder…" Nate put down his water bottle and retied one of his boots. He toyed with the water bottle. "How much of who we are depends on who raised us? If you had left your wife, stayed with my mother, would I be a completely different person?"

"I don't know," Eric said. "But I sure would be."

"Funny, that's what my mom said when I asked her the same question."

"Is it?" Eric was very uncomfortable with this direction of the conversation, but he couldn't shut the kid down when he was talking about the mother he had lost.

"She said if she'd told you about me, and persuaded you to leave your wife, like she half wanted to do, she'd be the kind of woman who destroys things, instead of becoming the kind of woman who restores things. That's what she became in the school system she worked for. There were a lot of scandals and messes, and she put it to rights."

Nate put his bottle back in his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder, but didn't yet stand. "She said she knew you loved your wife, but that she fell for you, so when you told her your wife had left, she saw your vulnerability as her opportunity. Later, when she saw how much you wanted to make it work with Mrs. Taylor, she was sad and angry at first, but then she was mostly just ashamed. She felt so guilty for having that affair. She figured, if she hurt that badly when you went back to your wife, how badly would your wife hurt, if you two divorced?"

"I'm sorry for the pain I caused your mother."

"She was sorry for the pain she caused your wife. She wished she could have apologized to her, before she died. Do you think….if I apologized on her behalf…would that be bad? Would that upset your wife? Do you ever talk about it anymore?"

"We talk about it, when we need to. We strive to be honest with each other. It might upset my wife for you to do that, but she's a strong woman, and she's compassionate. She's the most compassionate woman I know. Her heart is so big, that I think if my wife knew that it would make you feel like you'd gotten some peace with regard to your mom's death, then she'd want you to do that."

Nate nodded. He looked away, but not before Eric saw the dampness in his eyes. "I'll think about it." Nate stood. He wiped an arm across his eyes. "We should get moving."


	27. Personal Questions

They stopped in a valley to eat their lunches, spreading out a rolled blanket Nate had attached to his backpack. Nate pulled out protein bars and water and fruit. "What did you bring?" he asked Eric.

"Whatever my wife packed me."

Nate laughed. "Oh, you're serious? Your wife packs your lunch?" He started laughing again. He covered his mouth with his fist and tried to choke down his laughter. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey," Eric said, drawing out a paper bag from his backpack, "I can't help it if my wife loves me."

"You probably have some influence on that."

That's what the counselor had said, all those many years ago, when Eric had lingered after their first counseling session, telling Tami he needed to work out the billing and that he would meet her at the café downstairs.

 _As the counselor was drawing out the paperwork and explaining that their payment would be scaled to income, Eric closed the door. He turned and interrupted the counselor in mid-sentence. "I cheated on her while she was gone."_

 _The counselor dropped the papers on his desk. "And you haven't told her."_

 _"No. I ended it. I'll never do it again."_

 _"You need to tell her before your next session. Everything we talked about today…everything we'll talk about in the sessions to come will be useless if you don't tell her."_

 _"There won't **be** any more sessions if I tell her. She'll leave me."_

 _"You don't know that."_

 _"She left me because I got mad about all the money she spent. She left me when we were freshman because she wanted to figure herself out. Of course she'll leave me for this!"_

 _The counselor held up a hand. "She may. But you probably have some influence on that. How you react to her reaction can influence whether she stays or goes."_

 _"The affair is over. I'm **never** going to do it again. Why should I hurt Tami by telling her? It's going to kill her! What's the point of telling her, if I'm never going to do it again?"_

 _"You can't become honest with her if you're holding this back. Any marriage you built from this point forward would be built on a lie. You need to learn **how** to ensure you never do it again. You can't do that without discussing it – "_

 _"- I'll discuss it with you," Eric insisted. "I can come for private sessions – "_

 _"- with **her**. It's a team effort, affair-proofing your marriage."_

 _"I just won't do it again."_

 _"Didn't you assume you wouldn't do it the first time?"_

 _Eric opened his mouth but couldn't seem to speak._

 _"Besides," the counselor continued, "if weeks, months, or years down the road she learns the truth…it'll be so much worse for her then, after she's believed the lie for a long time."_

 _"I cheated, but I didn't lie," Eric said, desperate to believe there was something in him that was still good. "She wasn't here. I never said I was anywhere I wasn't. I didn't sneak around. She never asked me - "_

 _"- It's a lie by omission. You know that."_

 _Eric swallowed. "_ _I don't want to tell her. I don't want to hurt her like that. Just tell me what I have to do to be a better husband."_

 _"What you **have** to do is hurt her like that."_

 _"I can't!"_

 _"You can't live with this guilt either, Eric. There's a reason you're telling me. Maybe you hoped you'd get the go ahead from me to keep this from her, but I don't think you believed you would, did you?"_

 _Eric ran a hand over his mouth. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He stepped back and grabbed the handle of the doorknob._

 _"Eric, you need to tell her before our next session."_

 _He was taking deep breaths. He didn't feel like he could get enough air._

 _"I'm also going to write you a prescription for some anti-anxiety medication."_

 _"I didn't know counselors could do that."_

 _"I'm a psychiatrist." He began scrawling on his prescription pad._ _He ripped off the paper and extended it over the desk toward Eric. Eric shook his head. "Take it. You don't have to fill it. Just take it."_

 _The prescription rested in the pocket of Eric's jeans as he sat with Tami at the café, sipping coffee and listening to her talk about the job interview she was going to have that day. "It was so irresponsible of me to up and quit like that, but I have years of experience. I've been doing office support since high school. I think I can get this temporary secretary job. It's just three months of filling in, so if you get a job out of town, I'll be done before we need to move. I can help pay down those debts."_

 _The prescription remained in his pocket later that morning when he went to take his last final exam of his college career, hoping to scrape by with a C-, since he hadn't had time to study between his internship, work, and…the affair._

 _It was still in his pocket when he went to work at 5:00 PM, scrubbing toilets and mopping floors, wiping clean the thoughtless grime of careless people, wishing he could do the same thing to his past._

 _And it stayed in his pocket when he shed his jeans on the bathroom floor, stepped into the shower, and washed off the stench of his day. Clean only on the outside, he crawled into bed beside Tami. The clock read 10:30 PM._

 _She turned to him in the half darkness, in the faint, shimmering starlight seeping through the window, and kissed him. "Thanks for working so hard to support us."_

 _"You're welcome." The words came out faintly, as if from a dry throat._

 _"How was your exam?" she asked._

 _"Okay. I think I passed. I'm pretty sure."_

 _"I got the job. I start Monday."_

 _"That's great."_

 _"That was a good counseling session, wasn't it?" she asked. "I didn't know all that, about your mother. I mean, she always seemed a little off to me, but I didn't realize…I didn't know she was so negligent after your brother's death. I wish you'd told me more about all that before."_

 _"Sorry."_

 _"Have you started reading that book he gave you? That adult children of alcoholics one? Struggle for Intimacy?"_

 _"I - "_

 _" - I guess you haven't had time. Silly me. When would you have started it?"_

 _"I will. I will start it."_

 _She ran a hand up his arm, and then down. Eric felt as if his airways were closing in on themselves. She kissed him again, softly. "It's been a long time," she said. "I'm sorry. You must be so very...hungry."_

 _Her lips were like burning coals on his cheek, his chin, his mouth, her hand like scalding fire as she trailed it down his chest to his boxers. He wanted her so badly, wanted desperately to feel wanted by her, but she didn't really want **him** , did she? She wanted the person she once believed he would be. The good, honest, and faithful husband, the NFL star, the star that would never fall. _

_But he had fallen._

 _He seized her wrist before she could grasp him._

 _"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed._

 _"Can we go to the living room? We need to talk."_

 _He didn't look at her when he paced down the short hallway of their tiny family student housing apartment. He studied a black shoe polish stain on the dull carpet when he stood by the entertainment center, a hand resting on the top of the rough wood._

 _Tami sat on the loveseat. Her voice was not as steady and confident as it usually was when she spoke. "What's wrong? You don't want to quit the counseling, do you? I know I handled our fighting badly, and you didn't deserve me running off like that. I know I made some mistakes with money, but I think the counseling is going to help, Eric. It's going to make us a better couple."_

 _"I love you. I believe you won't do that stuff again. A person can make mistakes and never do it again. Do you believe that?"_

 _"Of course I believe that. But we need the counseling so we learn how not to repeat our mistakes."_

 _"I made a terrible mistake while you were gone."_

 _"A mistake?"_

 _"Not a mistake," he admitted. "Much worse than a mistake."_

 _Tami didn't say anything. She didn't even ask what he had done. Her sudden silence was like a millstone pushing him down into a watery depth. He looked up from the carpet. He saw that she had guessed. A second before, she could not have fathomed the possibility, but somehow, his tone, his words, his face had screamed the entire truth._

 _It was as if the scene unraveled in slow motion before him. Her eyes were stunned and yet almost glassy. The words "No…No….No…No! No!" came out of her mouth, over and over and over as she slid from the loveseat onto the floor, drew her knees up to her chest, and rocked while she wept. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach, and he cursed the counselor for persuading him to tell the truth. **It's over,** his conscience taunted him. **It's all over now. You've destroyed your marriage. You've** -_

" – got a pocket knife? I forgot mine."

Eric blinked and fished out his pocket knife so Nate could cut up his apple. "You okay?" Nate asked him. "YWe don't have much farther to go."

"Nah, I'm fine. I just was thinking about something."

Nate at a slice of apple, cut another, and offered it to Eric, who thanked him. "What should I call you?"

Eric didn't realize, until he said it, that Nate had avoided directly addressing him by any name.

"You can just call me Eric. If you're comfortable with that."

"Yeah, I can do that. It's not like I grew up with you. I used to call my neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Tanner when I was a kid, but when I moved back in with my mom when she was sick, and I was already 22, and I had a career, they wanted me to start calling them Jack and Mary. It was weird."

"My daughter calls all her teachers Ms. or Mr. and then their first name. Ms. Karen. Mr. Joe. It's weird to me. But it's how they seem to do it at her school."

"Can I ask you something personal?"

Eric didn't want this kid to ask him anything more about the past he'd fought to bury, but Nate had lost his mother, and he had to have a hundred questions. "Sure," Eric said. "Shoot."

"When did you tell your wife about…about my mom?"

"A couple of days after she came back home to me. We'd been separated. Sort of. Not legally."

"So my mom said."

"We were going to marriage counseling to work on the issues that led us to be apart, and later that night, after the first session, I told her."

"So you told her right away, then."

"Well, not right away. Not when she called me to say she was coming back. A couple days after."

" _Basically_ right away," Nate said. "You didn't keep it from her for _months."_

 _"_ No." Eric looked at Nate with concern. "Is there a reason you're asking?" Had this kid cheated on his girlfriend, and had she recently found up and broken up with him over it? Is that why he never talked about dating?

"What made her want to stay with you, even though you cheated on her?"

"I don't know, exactly. Our history. My willingness to become a better husband."

Nate nodded. "That's probably the key. Your willingness to change. If you had ever done it again, she would have left you, I suppose?"

"I'm certain she would have, yeah." Or maybe it was the girlfriend who had cheated on Nate. In a way, Eric was relieved to think so. He didn't like to think he'd passed on some genetic predisposition to straying. But he was pained for the kid. "It's a good thing to try to make a relationship work," he told Nate, "but there's absolutely nothing wrong with walking away if it doesn't. I guess you had to do that? Walk away? Recently?"

Nate nodded. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

"I'm sorry about that. I guess you got burned pretty badly. Is that why you don't seem interested in dating?"

"Well, I am dating someone again." He cut another slice of apple and handed it to Eric.

Eric took it. "I thought you said you _didn't_ have a girlfriend?" He crunched down on the crisp fruit.

Nate wiped the pocket knife on a handkerchief, closed it, and handed it back to Eric. He turned the stem of the apple until it broke from the core. "I don't do casual sex," he said, "but I'm trying to keep this dating relationship as casual as possible. I mean, I'm not seeing anyone else, but I'm trying not to become emotionally attached."

"So, if she cheats, it won't hurt as much this time?" Eric asked. When Nate didn't answer, he asked, "How's that working out for you? You succeeding in staying aloof?"

"Not very well," Nate admitted.

"I tried not to fall in love with my wife, in high school. She was going steady with another guy. I didn't succeed."

Nate pulled out a handful of nuts and eyed him as he popped them into his mouth.

"Damn, I sound like a complete asshole, don't I?" Eric asked. "Stole a girl from a guy, cheated on her four years later, don't remember the color of your mother's eyes…you must think I'm…" Eric shook his head.

Nate finished eating and took another sip of water. "I've seen you with your family. You seem like a decent man to me. I'm not judging you, if that's what you're afraid of." It was what Eric was afraid of. "It's just…I don't really know you. And I don't know if you really want to know me."

"I do, Nate. I do want to know you. You're my son. And I know I wasn't there your entire childhood and youth, but I would have been, if I had known. And I know you're already man. Hell, you probably already make more money than me."

"Probably not. I just don't have a family to support. So I have a lot of disposable income."

"I just mean..." Eric considered his words. "I know we're not going to have a typical father-son relationship at this point. But, as a coach, I've had many young men in my life who were like sons to me, even though I didn't meet them until they were teenagers, and even though I didn't have a blood connection with them. What I'm trying to say is…I'm here. I'm here for you in whatever…whatever shape you want that relationship to take."

"Okay," Nate said simply. "Okay then." He stood, stepped off the blanket, and looked up at the sky. "It was so cloudy yesterday, that I thought it might rain and today would turn out to be a bust. But it's shaped up to be a really nice day."

"Yeah," agreed Eric, rising from the blanket. "Sure has, hasn't it?"


	28. Gratitude

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Eric asked on the drive back from the state park later that afternoon. "Going to one of your uncle's, I guess?"

"Usually I do," Nate answered, turning down the radio, which was broadcasting a late afternoon game, "but I don't really want to this year. It's going to be weird without my mom."

Eric scolded himself for not realizing the significance of the question. This would be Nate's first holiday since losing his mother, and her absence would be felt.

"That and they're having it at my Uncle Charlie's girlfriend's house," Nate continued, "and she annoys me. I know that's rude to say, but..." He moved his hand like a mouth. "All the time."

"I'm with you there," Eric said. "I have a sister-in-law like that. But sometimes you just have to tolerate it. Family."

"She's not family yet. And he went through a pretty ugly experience with his first wife, so I'm not sure she will be anytime soon."

"Family doesn't have to come with a ring," Eric said.

Nate looked at him curiously. "You have a broad definition of marriage, then?"

"No! I think it requires commitment. Listen, I've been faithful to my wife ever since - "

"- that's not what I meant. I mean..." Nate shook his head. "What do _you_ mean?"

"I mean, for instance, I thought of Matt as family before he ever married Julie. He was just around all the time. And I coached him. He was like a son to me, before he was my son-in-law."

"Ah."

"So what are you doing then? For Thanksgiving?"

"I'm just planning to go out to dinner with Joshua," Nate answered. "His family disowned him a couple years ago, so he's got nowhere to go."

"Who's Joshua?"

"My assistant."

How sad, Eric thought, to be having a Thanksgiving dinner alone with someone in your employ.

"We're friends, too," Nate hastened, as if reading his mind. "He helped me so much last year, when my mom was sick. He went above and beyond. I was kind of a mess then - I'd just found out I was being cheated on a second time, so that relationship was falling apart, my mom needed a lot of attention from me, the stock market was volatile and my clients were freaking out, and I was just trying to keep my head above water. Joshua helped me so much during that time, in so many unexpected ways, that I became more than just his boss, and he became more than just my assistant." Nate fell silent for a moment, looked out the window, and muttered, "That sounds pathetic to you, doesn't it? Like I buy my friends?"

"My best friend is one of my assistant coaches. I get it. It's hard for guys like us to make friends outside of work."

Nate smiled. "So you mean we do have _something_ in common?"

"Probably more than that. Listen, why don't you join us for Thanksgiving? Julie and Matt won't be there, unfortunately. They're going to Dillon to see his mom and grandma, haven't seen them in a year, but I think my wife is taking in a couple of strays. At least one professor from Braemore anyway."

"I appreciate the offer, but then Joshua would have no one to have dinner with. I don't want to leave him all - "

"- My assistant is coming too. Coach Washington. Clarence. If that makes you feel more comfortable bringing yours."

"Maybe you should run it by your wife first, before you invite two more people into her house?" Nate said with a slight smirk.

"You're right," Eric said, "I probably should. And I almost never do. That's one area where I have yet to improve as a husband."

[*]

Tami sighed when Eric told her, later that night in bed, that he'd invited Nate and his assistant for Thanksgiving.

Eric always pulled this crap. Last minute team barbecues. Extra guests at Thanksgiving and Christmas. This was petty annoyance number one for her. "I suppose I can squeeze in one more chair," she said. "Professor Ingram isn't coming anymore. Only Professor Moore. That will make seven. But you're doing _all_ the shopping Wednesday. And you aren't forgetting anything."

"Yes, ma'am." He rolled to his side, rested an arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek.

He would forget something, she knew. That was petty annoyances number two. But petty annoyances were something you learned to accept and smile at affectionately. She knew he had his own list of annoyances to deal with from her, like when she let the gas tank get down to empty (he'd had to rescue her with a gas can twice in the past three years, and he was always filling it up for her when it was a quarter full), or when she lost track and drank a little too much at a Braemore cocktail parties (and he had to ease her out early before she embarrassed herself), or when she took on some unrealistic project that was doomed to failure from the start (and he had to sweep up the pieces of her shattered illusions afterward and rebuild her self-confidence).

"You have a good time hiking with Nate?" she asked. "Did it go all right?" She'd been out with Gracie all day, doing mother daughter fun things, and they'd had dinner at Piper's mom's house. Then the bedtime rush had followed when they returned home late, and Tami hadn't had a chance to talk to Eric about his day.

"I think it went well. There were some awkward moments, but...we talked."

Tami had hoped they would, there in the silence of the woods. "That's good, hon."

"Listen, he might try to have a conversation with you at some point, about his mother being sorry for...her part in it. He's nervous about it upsetting you, so I just want to give you a head's up. I told him how amazingly compassionate you are - "

"- You think that of me?" She loved it when he complimented her without even _thinking_ about the fact that he was complimenting her.

"I _know_ that of you. I just want you to be prepared, in case he brings it up. I know it could hurt a little, having to talk about that with him."

"I can handle it. What else did you talk about?"

"He's in love with some girl," Eric said.

"Well I guess you _did_ talk, because he sure avoided mentioning any girl when he was here, let alone being in love."

"He's trying not to be," Eric said, "because he got hurt recently, but I could tell. He's in love."

"What's her name?" Tami asked.

"I didn't ask her name."

Petty annoyance number three. "How could you _not_ ask her name?"

"I don't know, Tami," he muttered, "It just didn't occur to me. I guess this is why you're in charge of the social affairs."

"It's not the only reason," she said, and then chuckled and kissed him. "But why isn't he spending Thanksgiving with her? He wasn't invited to join her and her family?" "It didn't make sense, if Nate had a girlfriend, that he'd be bringing his assistant instead of her.

"Maybe he was. He's trying to keep the relationship casual. I guess going to Thanksgiving dinner would suggest something more serious."

"But he's _dating_ her?"

"Yeah. I got the impression he's dating her regularly, and no one else - "

"- And that's casual?" Tami asked.

"But he's trying to keep his heart out of it."

"That sounds like a terrible plan."

"Probably an impossible one." Eric smiled and kissed her. "I remember when I promised myself I wasn't going to fall for you, but then I kept stopping by your receptionist's desk every single time you were working."

"And stopping by my locker every single time Mo wasn't around."

"I was so jealous of him."

"Well, lucky for you, Mo turned out to be a cheater." She hadn't been thinking of Eric's affair at all when she said it. Mo and Eric were worlds apart in her mind. But when she felt his body abruptly tense, she realized she shouldn't have said those words.

Tami hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. He'd worked so very hard to restore her trust, and he had, years ago. He'd maintained her trust unwaveringly for years. That was part of the reason she had insisted he go to Austin for that job. She wanted him to understand how very much she trusted him, and to show him that living apart would be an entirely different experience in the light of a strong relationship. But she hadn't thought enough about how trust wasn't the only thing they would need when they were apart - they had simply needed each other. That had been a hard time, a foolish decision on her part, though they had weathered it.

"Eric," she said, considering her words carefully, "Mo made out with another girl while I was at the same party with him, in another room. He did it more than once, with more than one girl. We weren't separated. We weren't even fighting. And he wasn't hurting deeply inside. He just did it because he could, and because his commitment meant nothing to him, even though he pretended to me it did."

Eric's warmth left her as he rolled onto his back, swallowed, and looked at the ceiling.

She turned and lay her head on his chest. "I love you," she assured him. _She_ felt as if she was over the flare up of pain that had occurred with the advent of Nate, but perhaps _he_ wasn't. "You've got to let go of that guilt, you know. It's going to get in the way of _us_."

He let his arm fall across her back. "I love you, Tami. You make me a better man."

She peered up at him. There were too many emotions in his eyes for her to read them.

"I'm grateful for you," he whispered.

She eased herself up his body until they could kiss.

Most men would have walked away, she thought. Given her temporary abandonment, his other opportunity in Cassie, and the storms of anger that had burst forth from Tami in the weeks following his admission, leaving her for the other woman, or for no woman at all, would have been the easiest thing to do. They had no children. They were young. But instead, he appreciated what they had shared, saw the potential for what they could have in the future, and put in the hard work.

She appreciated his investment in their marriage, and she felt sure a man didn't walk away from that kind of investment. She was more secure in their marriage, she imagined, than many a woman who had never experienced an affair. She wished Eric understood that. She stopped kissing him, looked into his eyes, and said, "I'm grateful for you, too, Eric. You're the thing in this world I'm most grateful for."

"Yeah?"

"Make love to me."

He was tender with her tonight. They whispered their love to one another, came together slowly, and took their sweet time before drifting off, tangled in the protective web of one another's arms.


	29. Making Conversation

"He's bringing his assistant? To Thanksgiving dinner? Why?" Julie asked.

Matt looked up from his sketch pad. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the pad on the coffee table, while Julie sat with a book open on her lap. Her mother had called a few minutes ago to wish her an early Happy Thanksgiving, knowing they were catching an early flight to tomorrow morning. Matt grinned. Julie shook her head. He turned the page of his sketch black to a blank sheet and wiggled his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Julie's mother said. "The man had nowhere else to go, apparently, and they were planning to have dinner together. Your father invited them both. You know how he is."

"Are they staying overnight?"

Matt's eyes were fixed on her, and he had a slight smirk on his face.

"Nate is. But Joshua is heading home to D.C. after dinner. We're taking Nate to the airport in the morning to catch a flight to L.A. I guess he has another one of those client meetings."

"He leads a rough life, it seems," Julie said. "Of champagne and fresh nuts in first class."

"I bet he likes fresh nuts," Matt said with a grin. Julie rolled her eyes at him. Matt had, overall, been so mature for his age for so long, that sometimes she forgot what a typical, immature _guy_ he could be.

"I wish you and Matt could be here," her mom said.

"Christmas, Mom. We discussed this. We can't be there every holiday."

"I know. I know," she said, sounding faintly despondent to Julie. "I just think it would be nice, is all."

"If she's complaining," Matt said, "Tell her my grandmother might not live past Thanksgiving."

Julie covered the phone. "Your grandmother is going to outlive my mother." Then she wished her mom a Happy Thanksgiving.

When she hung up, Matt said, "Time to strip. I think I'll have you sit on a stool. Legs spread a little."

"That's not proof of _anything_ , Matthew Saracen."

"I'm telling you, they're a couple."

"My mom said my dad said Nate is dating some chick. So actually, I think I need my first backrub." She scooted forward on the couch. "I'll let you sit behind me."

Matt shook his head. "He was probably talking about his assistant, and your dad just _assumed_ it was a girl he was talking about. Because your dad is not the kind of enlightened and perceptive man I am."

Julie snorted.

"What? I'm an artist. I have perception."

"Then you should perceive that we can't settle this bet yet."

[*]

Tami had expected Nate's assistant to be younger than Nate, though she didn't know why. Nate was only 24, and wildly successful for his age, and perhaps he wanted an experienced assistant, especially since Joshua seemed to serve as something of a researcher, admin, manager, and personal assistant all at once. The man appeared to be in his early 30s, and he was good-looking, with well-styled, short blonde hair, a statuesque face, a lean form, and piercing blue eyes. Tami scolded herself for repeatedly noticing _just_ how good-looking he was. At least she wasn't like her sister Shelley, flirting with a teenage Tim Riggins. It was just an _observation_ , and he was a grown man, after all. It didn't help that Joshua spoke with a British accent or that he presented her with a bottle of Chardonnay when he stepped through the door.

When they entered the living room, Coach Clarence Washington was on one end of the couch, next to the recliner, where Eric was ensconced. Both were glued to the game on the television. Eric muted it when the guests walked in, and introductions were exchanged. After everyone had a drink in hand, Joshua took a seat in the arm chair, Nate sat next to Clarence on the couch, and Tami sat on the other side of Nate. Gracie looked up from where she lay, stomach-down, on the floor. She'd been doing a word search using a black ink pen. She smiled at Nate.

"I brought you Monopoly," he told her, "because your dad mentioned you guys didn't own it."

" _Our_ dad," Gracie said. "You _are_ my half brother."

"Yes," Nate said, glancing at Coach Washington, who was unperturbed by the revelation, as Eric had already given him a cursory explanation of who Nate was. Tami didn't know how much they had talked about it. She didn't think they talked about much beyond football, but she didn't really know what went on in that office, on the field, or when they went out once a week to the pub after Wednesday practice. "It's in my trunk. I'll get it later."

"Nate, you really don't need to bring her a present every time you come," Tami told him.

"He _wants_ to, Mom," Gracie instead. "Don't take that from him."

Joshua and Clarence laughed, while Eric gave Gracie a scolding look.

"You really need Monopoly, though," Nate said. "That's sort of essential as far as games go."

"We had it in Dillon," Eric told him. "I don't know what happened to it in the move." He looked at Tami. "Probably the same thing that happened to my Pop Warner trophies."

"How long have you been in America?" Tami asked Joshua. She was never going to admit that she had secretly buried those trophies in the trash. They were from his elementary school days, after all! And they would take up so much room in the home office.

"I arrived on a student visa a few years ago," Joshua said. "I came for graduate school. In economics."

"And your Nate's _assistant_?" Eric asked.

Joshua glanced at Nate. "It is interesting being older and more educated than your boss, but it turned out I couldn't find a decent job when I graduated, and I wanted to stay on in America. Nate gave me the opportunity, and I do a lot more for him than picking up his dry cleaning. I get to use my brain. I do a lot of research." He smirked a little. "He may even make me an equal partner one day."

"I never said anything about that," Nate told him. "Who would get my coffee?"

"You Brits," Coach Washington said in a good humored tone, "always coming over here, taking American's jobs."

"No," Joshua said, "you have no idea what it's like working for this man here. I'm just taking one of those jobs Americans won't do."

Nate chuckled and shook his head.

Eric rose from his recliner and shooed Clarence from the couch so he could sit beside Nate. Coach Washington settled into Eric's recliner. "Ahhh…." He sighed as he wiggled in. "So I get to sit on the throne today. Maybe this is a precursor to assuming the crown."

"Not until U-Penn hires me as QB coach," Eric warned him.

"You're not going to get hired by U-Penn," Clarence told him. "Though it's nice to have ambitions."

"You don't know. I got hired by TMU once. Shane State made me an offer."

"Small potatoes, those schools. But at U-Penn…you'd be making close to $300K with bonuses. You'd finally make more than your wife." Clarence chuckled at his own joke.

Eric pointed his beer bottle at Coach Washington while looking at Nate, "I bet your assistant never behaves in so disrespectful a manner."

Nate looked at Joshua and smiled.

"It's just my way of showing affection, Coach," Clarence told him. He pointed his peer bottle at Eric. "This man needs to relax. He's wound like a spring half the time."

"You follow football?" Eric asked Joshua.

"Sure do. Machester's my team."

"Manchester?"

"He's talking about soccer, hon," Tami told him.

Joshua smiled as he motioned to the TV with the glass of chardonnay Tami had poured him. "It doesn't make sense, calling this sport football. The foot almost never contacts the ball."

"It does sometimes," Eric insisted.

"Should be called handball," Joshua suggested. "Or inch ball. They move so slowly across that field."

Nate shot him a warning look. Joshua shrugged and smirked slightly.

"So who are we rooting for?" Nate asked Eric. "The guys in blue, right?"

"Well, that's green, really, son. That's dark green," Eric said.

"It looks a little blue."

"It doesn't look at all blue," Joshua said.

"A little," Nate insisted.

"You must be color blind," Joshua told him.

"Well, okay, those guys," Eric said, pointing to the television. "Not the guys in red."

Tami left the boys to their conversation and went to baste the turkey, but when she shut the oven door, she noticed Nate standing by the kitchen table. She'd prepared the dining room table for today's festivities, but she'd laid out the pies on the kitchen table.

"Looks great," Nate said. "I love pecan."

"Escaping all the talk of football?" she asked.

"Even Joshua's getting into it," he said. He put a hand down on the table. "When's your colleague coming?"

"Dr. Moore probably won't be here until we eat, which I'm trying to time for half time."

"I bet Eric appreciates that." The first name sounded a little awkward coming from Nate's lips. It might have been the first time he used it, Tami thought.

"We try to accommodate each other in different ways."

Nate nodded.

"Why don't you bring your wine into the dining room and sit and talk with me a minute?" Tami suggested.

He plucked up the wine glass he had set on the kitchen table and followed her. They settled into two chairs. The table had six dining chairs, and a seventh folding chair for Gracie shoved awkwardly in on one side. The china had been laid out. Nate looked over her shoulder and asked, "Did Matt paint those?"

She turned to look at the paintings hanging on either side of the hutch, both of west Texas landscapes. "Yes. Eric just hung them yesterday. He shipped them to us for an early Christmas gift." She turned back to Nate. "Eric misses Texas. I think Pennsylvania is more attractive - less flat and barren than where we used to live – but Eric thinks there's something inherently beautiful about the starkness of the west Texas landscape."

"I can see that," Nate said. "It's…strong. Raw. Honest, somehow."

"I suppose it is," Tami told him.

Nate fingered the stem of his wine glass, his eyes fixed on it. "My uh…my mom would like to have told you she was sorry, before she died. For having an affair with your husband. For contributing to injuring your marriage. For thinking about only herself and what she wanted and not about how much her actions might hurt someone else. She was a good woman, and she regretted it, and she wished she could have told you."

A choppy sea of emotions rattled around in Tami's gut. She waited a moment for them to calm a little, and said, "I'm glad to know your mother matured just like Eric and I both did. We were all young, I suppose, and we all had our own separate demons to struggle with. I can tell she did a fine job of raising you."

Nate ventured to look at her, but he didn't seem to have a response.

"This must be a very hard time for you, your first holiday without your mother."

"She was my family," Nate said. "I mean…I have my uncles, and I have the one cousin, but…she was the axis, you know? She was axis of that whole thing."

"Do you feel like it's spinning apart without her?"

"A little bit. I just…I feel like an outsider without her, even in my own family. I can't explain it."

"You don't have to explain it," she assured him. "I think I understand."

"You and your husband, you two have a good, solid marriage, don't you?"

Tami was relieved he was broaching the subject she suspected had long been a topic of concern for him. "We do. I think our marriage gets better with each passing year. Some years are better than others. But you develop a trust. An assurance. "

"I'm glad I didn't mess that up. I thought about that, a lot…you know…whether I should even try to track him down when I found out." He began running his fingers up and down the stem again.

"You didn't mess anything up, Nate. Your father is very glad to have you in his life. And that other stuff, it's so long in our past. But we both want you to be a part of our _present_. "

Nate smiled. " _You_ do?"

"We do," she assured him. "Both of us."

"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. You're a very gracious woman."

"Call me Tami."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled.

He took a sip of his wine. "I like him. Eric. My dad. He seems like a good man. Solid guy. I wish…I mean…" He shrugged. "It's hard, starting from scratch, you know."

"I know, honey."

"And…we get along fine…but…I don't really like football. To be honest."

She laughed. "Well I didn't get it at first either. But, you know, he can be pretty convincing. Give him a chance to share it with you. It's more than a game to him. Much more."

"Yeah, I get that at least."

"And, you know, he just finished reading a thick book on finance yesterday."

"Really?"

"So you two will get there. You will."

"Thanks…Tami." Nate shook his head. "That just sounds wrong. Mind if I just call you Mrs. Taylor?"

She smiled, not her for-public-consumption smile, but her for-family-especially smile. "You can call me whatever you want."


	30. Speculations

It felt good to be sitting at the head of his own table, spread as it was with a feast fit for a king, even if the guests were a hodge podge of strangers to one another. Eric was glad to have his son and his assistant coach here, but he was less certain about this Joshua fellow or the Braemore professor who had shown up exactly at half time, with room only for hasty introductions before they were all seated at the dining room table.

Dr. James Moore was a 40-something, tall, lean man, with skin a shade darker than Coach Washington's, and he wore those tiny, wire-rimmed glasses that seemed to be so popular among Braemore's professors. Eric thought they looked more silly than intellectual, but he of course kept that opinion to himself.

When grace had been said and the food was circulating the table, Eric ventured some conversation. "So," he asked. "What do you teach, James? African-American Studies?"

Tami shot him a look that told him he had just been gauche, but he had no idea what he'd done wrong. He was just trying to make conversation. He wasn't used to playing this role. Usually it was a booster in the guest seat, and it was Tami's job to make small talk.

"No," Dr. Moore said. "I teach Dead White Male Studies."

Eric glanced at Dr. Moore to determine whether the professor was annoyed or amused. His lips were a tight, almost angry line, but his eyes were smiling.

"Dr. Moore teaches 17th century English literature, Eric," Tami told him, with something of a scolding tone "to undergrads, and Shakespeare to graduate students."

"Only two classes?" Eric asked. That must be nice. He taught six classes at Pemberton: Weight Lifting, General Phys Ed (two periods), Life Skills (and boy did these kids need them), Health & Nutrition, and Football. Pemberton actually had a year-long football class. It was used for training during football season and spring training, but when the players weren't allowed to be training, he had units on "the history of football," and "math in football" (he got some basic geometry and statistics in there) and "the psychology of football" (Tami had helped him with that unit). He loved that class.

"That's pretty typical, Eric," Tami said, again with the expression that told him he was putting his foot in his mouth. "Dr. Moore does a lot of writing and research."

Dr. Moore asked, "What do you teach, Coach Taylor?"

Eric told him.

"You should add a unit on football in literature to that football class, if you don't have enough to fill all the weeks."

"That's a fine idea," Eric said. "Any suggestions? And keep in mind that half these kids are reading on about a 6th grade level. I've got a few players who are on grade level, and two that are way beyond, but the bulk of them…"

"Have you read _Friday Night Lights_? By H.G. Bissinger?" Dr. Moore asked.

Eric shook his head.

"It's not too difficult. It's non-fiction. It's about a football team in Odessa, Texas called the Panthers – "

Eric smiled. "-Hey, that was the name of one of my teams in Dillon, Texas."

"Then you ought to like this book. Or maybe not. It's a bit critical of the politics of football. Corruption, grade tampering, illegal off-season practices, that sort of thing."

"Huh," Eric said, and drew his water glass a bit closer to himself.

"You don't know anything about that sort of thing, do you?" Dr. Moore asked him.

Eric sipped his water and set it down. "I try to keep a clean conscience."

"I actually teach three classes," Dr. Moore said. "If that makes you feel any better about your teaching load. This year I was asked to teach a class outside of my department, so I'm lecturing Queer Literature."

"What's queer about it?" Gracie asked.

Joshua snorted and Nate shot him a sharp look.

"The official title is Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered Literatures," Professor Moore explained.

"It's about...adult sexuality," Tami told Gracie. Eric was always impressed by her delicate choice of words with their daughter.

"Oh. Boring," the little girl said, and asked Nate to pass her some more cranberry sauce.

"There's an entire class dedicated to that?" Eric asked.

"It's an exploration of literary and cultural expressions of sexuality and gender."

"Oh." Eric shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Sounds a bit ridiculous," Joshua said. "Overly specialized. Perhaps a little self-indulgent."

"You sure that's not your homophobia speaking?" the professor asked him.

Joshua shrugged. "Well then I must really fear myself."

Eric looked up from his mashed potatoes and caught sight of Nate shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"So you self-identify as homosexual?" Professor Moore asked.

"Self-identify?" Joshua chortled. "Is there any other way _to_ identify?"

Professor Moore glanced at Tami, somewhat apologetically, as though to say he had not meant to start a debate at her table.

"I don't appreciate all this academic jargon," Joshua continued. "And I can't say I like the ghettoization of homosexual culture, queer _theory,_ all this…" He sighed and lifted his water glass but didn't sip. "Look, we're just people. With universal needs and desires. I probably approach Shakespeare the same way he does." He gestured to Eric.

"With confusion?" Eric asked.

Joshua laughed, and Nate looked a little relieved.

Eric's mind ping-ponged through a hundred thoughts. First he wondered, quite suddenly, if Nate was gay. Had he completely misinterpreted their prior conversations? Then he wondered if there was a gene for that, and, if so, why no one in his family seemed to have it. Had Ray, Jr. been gay? Eric couldn't remember his older brother ever mentioning a girlfriend, now that he thought of it. But there wasn't a gene for that, was there? He really didn't know. Tami probably knew. He'd ask her later, in bed. He wondered if she'd want to have sex with him tonight. She seemed a little irritated with him, but she could be softened. Shit, that thing he'd said about the deer not being a family because there were two doe. Was that why Nate had frowned? Was Joshua his…boyfriend? Was that even the right word? He had no idea. He had no idea about any of this sort of thing.

He glanced at Tami. She seemed a little perturbed by the disagreement at the table, but she didn't seem as though she'd just had this revelation he was having.

"Well, I was an economics major," Joshua said. "I avoided literature. Nate reads though. All sorts of stuff, don't you?"

"I like to read, yeah," Nate said. "Not Shakespeare, though."

"Who's your favorite author?" Tami asked him, diplomatically steering the conversation in a more comfortable direction.

"P.G. Wodehouse. Life gets heavy. I like to laugh."

Eric wished he had any idea who P.G. Wodehouse was. He needed to find some point of connection with his son, and that seemed to be getting more and more difficult. He made a mental note to look up P.G. Wodehouse, but Tami, who was next to him, leaned over and whispered, "Jeeves and Wooster."

"I liked that T.V. show," Eric told Nate. "That they made from his books." He hoped his was the correct pronoun choice there. He hoped P.G. _self-identified_ as a man, so he didn't sound like a fool. "Jeeves and Wooster."

"We should watch that together sometime," Nate suggested.

Eric smiled a little. "Yeah. Yeah. That would be good."

[*]

Tami observed the dinner conversation weave a varied path, from football to work to music to literature and back to football, and decided that, despite a few awkward moments, the dinner had been a success. When the plates were empty, and no one seemed capable of eating another bite, Clarence asked, "Would it be rude of me and Eric to sneak back to the living room to watch the game? Pretty sure half time is over."

"Go on ahead, y'all," Tami said. "I'll let you know when the pie is ready."

"You're a lucky man, Eric, my friend," Clarence said as he rose from the table.

"I know it."

"I'll join you." Professor Moore tossed his napkin on the table. "I used to play center in college. For the Seminoles."

"You did?" Eric asked with surprise as he stood.

Joshua also rose. "I wish I could stay for pie, but I should begin my drive back to D.C. before it gets too late. It was very kind of you to invite me, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor."

"Coach Taylor," Nate muttered to him as he, too, stood.

"Coach Taylor," Joshua corrected himself. Then he directed his attention to Tami. "It was a superb meal. I really enjoyed it."

"We'd love to have you anytime," she told him.

Farewells were exchanged, and Nate told Joshua, "Be careful with my car when you take it back. The Beltway is not the Autobhan."

"I'm always careful with your car."

"Park it in the garage, not on the street."

"It'll be fine. You know you can trust me."

Nate nodded.

Joshua clapped him on the shoulder. "You have a safe flight to L.A. tomorrow. And get that widow to give you her Schwab accounts."

"I'm working on it," Nate said as he took a step forward. "I'll walk you out."

Gracie helped Tami clear the dishes but then trailed after the men to the living room. Tami had just started washing when Nate came into the kitchen and offered to help. "Why thank you," Tami drawled. "I wish the rest of my family were so considerate."

"The… _rest_ of your family?" he asked. "You consider _me_ family?"

She hadn't realized the implication of what she'd said until Nate asked about it. _Did_ she consider him family? In a way, she supposed, she did. "Is that all right?" she asked him as she handed him a wet china dish and he began to dry it. "You _are_ my husband's son."

"Yeah…that's. Yeah." He smiled as he ran the towel over the plate and then set it on a clean spot on the counter. As she washed and he dried, they continued to talk. "I'm sorry about Joshua just…throwing that out like that," Nate said. "I'm sure it was awkward."

"Throwing what out?" Tami asked him.

"His…uh…sexuality."

"I don't think he _threw it out_ ," Tami reassured him. "It just came up in the course of the conversation."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it?"

After setting down a plate, Nate leaned against the counter. "Eric strikes me as…I don't know…conventional. I guess you're less so?"

"Eric likes his traditions," Tami told him. "He's reserved, cautious about change, and maybe a bit old-fashioned. But he isn't bigoted."

"He seemed uncomfortable when the conversation shifted in that direction."

"Honey, he would have been uncomfortable if we were talking about heterosexuality." She turned off the water, plucked up another towel, and dried her hands with it. "Nate, if you and Joshua are more than friends, that's not going to disturb me in the least. And Eric might not know quite what to do with it at first, but he'll figure it out."

Nate laughed. " _Me and Joshua_? God no. We're just friends. He's getting married in January, but not to _me_. To some guy in England. I'm going to be a groomsman."

"Oh."

There was a cheer from Clarence and Eric in the living room, and a boo from Professor Moore.

"We don't come off that way, do we?" Nate asked. "As a couple?"

Tami thought they had, a little bit, especially the way they bickered and bantered, but she supposed it wasn't that different from the way Clarence and Eric bickered and bantered. "You come off as reserved about your personal relationships, Nate, which is perfectly fine. None of it is anyone's business but your own. But I am a counselor, and I've heard everything there is to hear, and you're not going to shock me if you ever _do_ want to talk about…well, anything at all. Just so you know."

Footsteps tread toward the kitchen and Eric appeared. Perhaps his timing was for the best, because Nate did not seem about to speak. He appeared uncomfortable.

"Come watch the replay on this, Nate," Eric said. "I know you're not into football, but this was really amazing."

Nate tossed the hand towel on the counter. "I'll probably have some stuid questions about it."

"I'll probably have some stupid questions for you later," Eric said as they departed the kitchen, "about some stuff I was reading in this finance book the other day. I didn't quite understand…."

Tami smiled as she turned to wipe down the countertops.


	31. Pillow Talk

Tami sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing lotion into her hands. It smelled faintly of lilac, which for some reason made Eric think of the blue bonnets that had littered the fields by the lake the first time they'd made love, in May of their senior year of high school, a week after graduation. She'd made him wait what seemed like a lifetime – five months of friendship, followed by fourteen weeks of dating.

When they lay naked atop the blanket afterward, the summer sun bathing them with heat, her breasts pressed against his chest, he'd begged her to quit the receptionist job she'd just secured, follow him to College Station, and find work there. At the time, he was so much in love that he couldn't stand the thought of being apart from her for even a day. He was almost sick with the feeling, though he hadn't even said the words _I love you_ yet. Back then, Tami had no intention of ever going to college herself, though she would eventually work her way through school slowly, while Eric was teaching and coaching and worrying about taking on student loans right after they'd finally paid off the credit card debt.

"You have a nice Thanksgiving?" Tami asked as she eased in under the blanket and into his arms.

"You did a fantastic job," he told her as he kissed her forehead. "Sorry I couldn't help with the dishes. I got a little distracted by the game."

She chuckled. " _Couldn't_ help, huh?"

"You're an amazing host. Everybody loves you."

"You're not getting laid right now, you know."

He sighed, rested his head on his pillow, and looked up at the ceiling. Heat seeped through the vent above. "I've been thinking about something, and I need your opinion."

She snuggled in against his shoulder. "What's that?"

"Promise you won't make fun."

"Why would I make fun?"

"Sometimes you think I'm stupid."

"I've _never_ suggested you were _stupid_. But…hon, how could you have asked Dr. Moore that? If he taught African-American studies?"

"Well I _thought_ he did. Wasn't he the one who got that award for his research on that thing that had to do with racial tensions in the modern something or another?" Eric had attended a faculty awards presentation where Tami had received an award for her work in increasing the socioeconomic diversity of Braemore, and he'd read through the list of awards, three times, while some professor was giving a tedious speech.

"That was Dr. _Morehouse_. And he's white."

"Well, I didn't know. He wasn't there to get the award."

"The names _are_ similar. I can see how you might make that assumption."

"See! I'm not a complete idiot," he grumbled. "I don't have your social skills, but I'm not that bad, am I?"

"You can be agreeable," she conceded. She smiled and kissed his shoulder. "And even charming, when you want to be." She lifted her head to peer at him. "So what is it you think I'm going to make fun of you for asking?"

He didn't answer.

"Will it help if I lay my head back down and don't look at you?" she teased.

When she rested her head against his chest, he stroked her hair and asked, "Do you think maybe…Nate's gay?"

He waited for her to laugh, but instead, she said, "I think it's a possibility."

Eric felt a bit vindicated. "Do you think Joshua is his…uh…boyfriend?"

"He told me Joshua _wasn't_ his boyfriend."

"You asked?"

"I didn't _ask_ , exactly. I just told him if they _were_ a couple, it wouldn't bother me at all."

"So he's _not_ gay," Eric said.

"He may still be gay, but they're not a couple."

"I wish I knew."

"Does it matter, sugar?"

"I just…then I could be careful not to say hurtful stuff."

"Well, you could just be careful not to say hurtful stuff anyway. Whether or not he's gay."

"Point taken."

She raised her head. "Why? What kind of hurtful stuff have you said?"

"Nothing. Just…something. About deer."

"Deer?"

"I didn't mean for it to mean what he might have taken it to mean. I just…I didn't know. He never talks about anything really personal."

"Neither do you, I'm sure."

"I do when he asks me," Eric insisted.

"Maybe you should consider asking him, then," she suggested. "Ask him the personal questions."

"Isn't that rude?"

"Do you think it's rude when you show an interest in Julie's personal life?"

It wasn't rude. It was just _uncomfortable_. "Oh," he murmured. "Huh."

"You're taking him to the airport tomorrow. That might be a good opportunity to talk. If it's awkward, you can just put him on the plane right after."

He chuckled, bent his neck, and kissed her. "I knew there was a reason I married you. You're a good thinker."

"I don't think that's why you married me," she said with a smile. "You just wanted easier access to sex, and I refused to move in with you until you put a ring on my finger."

"You were kind of pushy."

"I had a good thing. I wanted to lock it up tight." Neither of them mentioned how she'd stormed off to Dallas just a couple of years later, or what had followed.

"That's not why I married you." He slid down, rolled on his side, and looked in her eyes. "You made me feel things I'd never felt," he whispered. "Things I didn't even know I could feel."

"Pure infatuation."

"Some of it was, yeah," he admitted. "But I grew out of that and into a deeper and more mature love."

"We both did."

"But sometimes you still make my blood boil, babe."

She laughed, low and sultry. He knew that laugh. It meant she was going to allow herself to be seduced.

He kissed her softly. "I'm so thankful for you, Tami," he murmured. "And I want to be close to you." He slid a hand under her shirt, his fingertips gliding like feathers across her stomach. She'd had his babies in there, two of them. She was his wife, the mother of his children, his woman, and right now, there was nothing in the world but her.

He kissed her lips and tasted her lounge, which was minty sweet with toothpaste. He loved the warm feel of her flesh against his hand, the way she responded to his touch, her skin flushing hotter. "Because I love you," he whispered, "I want to be as close to you as I possibly can."

That laugh again, charmed, sexy, inviting…it sent shivers up his spine.

He put his lips to her ear. "Pretty please?"

"You've got a silver tongue, Coach Taylor. Let's see what other uses you can put it to."

[*]

Eric had only drifted off for half an hour before he awoke. His arm was numb because of the way Tami had it pinned beneath half her body. He eased it out slowly, careful not to wake her. He rolled onto his side and tried to go back to sleep, but there were too many thoughts in his head. There was a play-off game this coming Saturday afternoon, a chance, for the first time since he'd taken over the Pioneers, to make it to State. They'd worked so hard, his boys, but he knew the odds weren't good. He wished Nate wanted to come, but he supposed he couldn't even if he wanted to. He had that business trip to L.A.. Maybe, if the Pioneers, by some fluke, _did_ win this game, Nate would come to the State Championships.

Such a strange kid, that boy was. So reserved. So focused on his job. But so much in need of family connection. Not unlike Eric himself.

Tami murmured something in her sleep and turned. Eric slid out from underneath the blanket. Pie would help shut down his mind, he thought. Pie and vanilla ice cream and a nice glass of warm milk. Another piece of that pecan, if there was any left.

When he got to the kitchen, he noticed, through the window, the smoke rising from the fire pit in the back yard. He saw also a figure on the wrap-around porch. Nate. Maybe the kid had found the guest bed too uncomfortable. He probably had a fancy temperpedic mattress at home. Or maybe he was just worried about his upcoming client meeting in L.A., the way Eric was worried about his upcoming game.

Eric went and fetched his coat and boots. He opened the back, kitchen door and was just reaching for the screen door when he realized Nate was talking to someone on the phone. Hesitant to interrupt, he let his hand fall. He was about to close the door when the one-sided conversation caught his attention, and, despite his training in southern manners, he found himself eavesdropping.


	32. Fireside Chat

"No, we can't try again," Nate said. "And you don't want to be with me anyway. You think you can keep someone on the side while you play house with me and you _both_ live off my money. Well, I'm all grown up now. I'm not playing anything anymore, and you can forget about playing me." There was a tense pause, and then, "Yes, actually I _can_. It doesn't matter if you agree at this point. It's been a year. I filed on Monday. This is happening. And soon. And if I were you, I would agree to arbitration. I'm offering you a quarter of a million. Lump sum. Free and clear." Pause. "You're not going to get more if you drag this through the courts. And if you make this more painful than it has to be, I'll make sure you get less. I've got a damn good lawyer."

Remorseful for listening at all, Eric tried to shut the inner door quietly, but it creaked. Startled, Nate turned. "I have to go," he said. He slid his cell phone back in his pocket.

"Hey, uh…" Eric muttered. "I just saw the fire. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

Nate ran a hand anxiously through his hair. He eyed Eric warily. "I'm done anyway."

Eric stepped out onto the porch. "Want to sit by the fire for a bit?" he asked.

Nate swallowed. "Okay."

They bypassed the rocking chairs on the porch, walked down the steps, and slid into the two deck chairs that were on the lawn on either side of the fire pit. The bowels of the black metal glowed an angry orange.

"It's going to be 69 in L.A. tomorrow," Nate said. "Sure will beat this." He stretched his hands out over the fire. "Hope you don't mind me lighting it."

"Not at all," Eric said. "Listen…" As hard as was for him to admit he had overheard, or to broach a personal topic like this, Eric forced himself. "Are you getting a divorce?"

"You heard that conversation?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just saw the fire."

"Yeah. I'm in the process," Nate told him.

"You didn't even mention you were married."

"We've been separated for a year. We got married when I was 20."

"But you didn't even _mention_ it."

"I don't like talking about it."

"I don't like talking about things that upset me either," Eric said. "But sometimes…you've got to open a vent, you know?" When Nate said nothing, Eric continued, "I guess I take my emotions out on the field sometimes."

Nate pulled his hands back from the flames. He tucked them into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. "Did you really use to coach college football?"

"Yeah," Eric answered.

"Those are hard jobs to get, aren't they? I mean, I don't know much about football, but…that's kind of…top tier, right?"

"Yeah."

"So why did you quit?" Nate asked.

"Tami stayed behind in Dillon when I got the QB coaching job for TMU in Austin. She loved her job, and our daughter had a boyfriend she didn't want to leave – well, it was Matt. They actually broke up after I left. But then they got back together."

"But you guys were good by then, right? You and Mrs. Taylor? It wasn't like…a separation?"

"Oh, we'd been good for _years_ by then. Tami wanted me to go, pursue my dream, but she wanted to pursue her dream, too. She thought we could do both. I thought it was a bad idea, but she kept insisting on it, and I didn't want her to think…"

He hadn't wanted her to think he was afraid of temptation. Her trust was a beautiful thing. And he _hadn't_ been afraid of temptation. He _had_ , however, been afraid of loneliness, of longing for her, of not being able to turn to her in the dark of the night. But it had made him feel desperate, pleading with her to follow him to Austin.

For all her psychological insight, Tami never seemed to fully understand just how very much he needed her. He thought she was more emotionally self-sufficient than he was, and it had been almost a relief to learn from Buddy that she wasn't doing well without him – a relief and a frustration at the same time, because she could have just let him stay in the first place.

But Tami had been dead set on supporting his dreams, on not ever putting herself in a position where she could be resented as the cause of him not reaching his goals. And maybe she was right. Maybe if he had remained in Dillon, he _would_ have wondered what he could have been and blamed her just a little for not becoming it. And maybe she needed to learn the hard way that although they were strong, that strength began with _choosing_ to stay together.

In a way, Eric thought, it had been a little bit like that Christmas story - he couldn't recall the author - where the man sold his watch to buy his wife a comb, and she sold her hair to buy him a watch chain. They had both tried to give each other what they though the other person wanted, when what they both _needed_ was each other. It hadn't been easy, losing face by breaking a contract, crawling back, and conniving for his old job…he would have liked to have avoided all that…but maybe it couldn't have been avoided. Maybe it was one of those trials their marriage needed to go through, one of those fires that purify.

"Our marriage was good then," he said. "It was strong. But it wasn't perfect. No marriage is perfect. We're both still learning. I suppose we'll still be learning when we die."

"I tried to make my marriage work," Nate said, "after I found out about the first affair. But…eventually I figured out I was trying to resurrect a dead body."

"I'm sorry about that," Eric said softly. "At least you tried. That's all you can do. And...it's hard. Marrying so young."

"I did rush into it. Like I told you, I wasn't popular in high school. I didn't date. And once people did want to be with me…well, I married the first one who said I love you." Nate kicked at a rock with his foot, and then dug the toe of his shoe in the cold ground. "And now…I don't know how I can ever know if anyone loves me. If someone told me those three little words now, I don't think I could believe them."

"Then don't believe the words. Believe the actions." Eric leaned his head back and looked up at the stars, which were partially obscured by a smoky blackness in the sky, but still peaked out here and there. "It took me almost a year to tell Tami I loved her. And when I did, all she said was – I know that." He laughed. "Just…I _know_ that."

"I heard you tell her you love her three times today."

"Yeah, well, I got over that hang up." They were silent for a while. Eric sat upward again and turned his head slightly toward Nate. "You think maybe you've found someone else?" he ventured.

"I don't know. We've only gone out half a dozen times. When I'm in L.A. We text and skype when I'm not. But we just met a few months ago."

"Is…uh…" Eric did not want to ask this question, but he supposed it had to be asked. All this tip-toeing around was going to get some toes broken eventually. He considered how best to phrase it, and finally settled on, "just purely for clarity's sake, so I'm using the proper pronoun…is this a guy or a girl we're talking about?"


	33. Uncomfortable Questions

"You're worried about pronoun confusion?" Nate asked. "I never pegged you for a grammar Nazi." Eric assumed this response meant Nate was going to change the subject, but he didn't. Instead, he looked out across the lawn to the swing set Matt and Eric had put together for Gracie and answered, "My soon-to-be-ex-wife's a woman. But the person I'm seeing now…he's a guy."

Eric blinked and tried to process this information. "So, the problem with your marriage…her cheating - "

"- It wasn't the sex. I mean…it wasn't _just_ the sex. That was part of it, I'm sure. I guess I really wasn't _that_ into it."

Eric waited and hoped Nate would continue, because he didn't know what to say, and he didn't know what _not_ to say either. The silence lasted maybe ten seconds, though it felt like an hour to Eric before Nate finally spoke again.

"I never understood why I wasn't as interested in girls as all the other guys. I mean, I can look at a girl and think she's pretty. And I can..uh…I can manage to…you know…I just, girls were never on my mind all the time like they seem to be for most men. This guy I've started seeing…it's my first time. With a guy." Nate crossed a leg over his knee. He picked at some dirt on his shoe.

"You didn't know yourself?" Eric asked. Was that possible? Eric didn't know how this worked. He hoped he didn't sound stupid. Or nosy.

"I've noticed guys since I was a teenager, but I tried to deny to myself that I noticed. My wife…Erin…I think she knew when she married me. I think maybe she knew before I even admitted it to myself. But she married me anyway, because she wanted my money. We started dating when I was 19. I'd just gotten my first big return. That's when I bought the Ferrari. Brand new. It was my big screw you to everyone in high school, but it was also a neon sign drawing people to me like vultures." He scratched his head. "I probably wasn't the best lover, physically, but I mean, we did…we _did_ do it." He put his shoe back down on the ground. "It just…it wasn't the mind-blowing thing I'd been led to believe it would be. I convinced myself guys just exaggerated about how good sex is."

"It's no exaggeration," Eric told him.

"I _did_ love her. Or I _thought_ I loved her. I think I just loved that she loved me. Or that I _thought_ she loved me. I'm not making any sense."

"You're making sense. But you telling yourself this marriage fell apart because she cheated…it sounds more like it was never a marriage to begin with." Eric picked up some kindling stacked near the fire pit and stoked the ebbing flames. The fire caught and spread.

"I just…I hate that I failed. How did you do it? How did you and Mrs. Taylor fix your marriage?"

"Nate, if you're...listen...the difference between you and your wife isn't something you can _fix_. And even if you could, if she really was all about the money from the start - "

"- yeah. I guess maybe that was the biggest betrayal, when I realized that. Because I really thought she loved _me_. And if I'd failed to satisfy her that particular way, and then we had at least parted as friends who loved each other as friends, I could have walked out of the marriage on solid ground." He sighed. "But realizing it was about the money from the start, it kind of turned my world upside down. It makes me question my judgment. Question my friendships. Even question my family relationships. Why does _anyone_ want to be with me? Maybe _no one_ really wants to be with me."

"I want to be with you. I want you to come to the State Championships, if my boys make it. I want to share that moment with you. And _I'll_ buy your ticket."

Nate laughed. Eric mistook the sound for a dismissive laugh at first, before he realized Nate was nervous and perhaps a little touched. The kid looked down at the ground, which he dug at again with the tip of his shoe. "That's a really big deal for you, isn't it?"

"It's a very big deal for me. The Pioneers have never won a State Championship. Ever. And I'd like to share that attempt with you."

Nate nodded. "I'd like to share it with you, too."

"Then I guess we damn well better win this playoff game on Saturday."

"You're nervous about it?"

"I haven't been this nervous since my first game with the Lions. And that was a complete failure. It was this rag tag team at this re-opened school that…" Eric waved his hand in the air. "It was just a mess at first. The locker room was trashed the first time I walked in. Scratched lockers. Broken locks. Run down equipment. Graphitti everywhere. I had to buy new uniforms out of my own pocket."

That was the first and only time Eric had ever lied to Tami about money. She hadn't been happy about it, but, given her own history of secret debt early in their marriage, she hadn't judged him for it either. She hadn't let it grow into a fight, the way those early debts had. She'd just been direct with him - warned him never to do it again - and he'd accepted her quiet rebuke with quiet shame. She'd had compassion, too. She'd known how much that team meant to him and how scared he was of failure, even if he couldn't say it.

"Did it ever get better?" Nate asked. "The team?"

"Oh, yeah, we won a State Championship."

"You took a rag tag team and turned them into champions?"

The pride twitched Eric's lips into a smile. "Well, I didn't do it alone."

"That's impressive."

"Well, that's what _you_ do, isn't it? With the portfolios you manage? Take them when they're down here" – Eric lowered his hand on the left of his chair, almost to the ground, "and bring them up here?" He raised it above his head.

"It's what I _try_ to. Usually they just come to about here," Nate put his hand at about waist level. "Then again, other financial managers, they only come to about here," he lowered his hand halfway between his waist and the ground.

"You want to manage my money? I don't have a lot. With the mortgage on this place, and the help we gave Julie for college, and Gracie will need braces eventually. But - "

"- No offense, but I don't play with money from friends and family. I started out that way, but I found…well…I just don't want to risk any relationships over money."

"I hear you."

"I mean, I'm happy to offer general advice, but I won't actually invest your money for you."

"Well, but, if you ever decide you don't want a neon sign drawing the vultures to you, you could always sell me that Ferarri. I'll take it off your hands for you. You know, for $5,000. Just to save you the trouble."

Nate laughed. "No, that's okay. I like to impress potential clients." He slid his hands back into his pockets. "Although, when I'm in L.A., I just rent a Ford Fusion. My uh…the guy I'm seeing…he doesn't know how well-off I am. I'll tell him, eventually. Just, not right away."

Eric didn't really like that the topic had drifted back to Nate's boyfriend, even though he was glad Nate was opening up to him. The subject made him uncomfortable, but he forced himself to engage in the topic anyway. "So…Tell me about this guy. Tami told me I don't ask enough questions."

"Honestly, I don't even know why we get along." He smiled. "I mean, he's superbly hot, but we don't have much in common. It's some kind of opposites attract thing, I guess."

"So what's different about you two?" Eric had never imagined himself asking such questions. In the years after Julie was born, he'd sometimes fantasized that their second child would be a boy, and they would toss the football in the backyard, while Eric gave the teenager advice on wooing girls and taught him to be both a gentleman and a chick magnet at the same time.

"Well, for one, he's younger. He's a senior in college."

"So, what, two or three years? That's a normal age difference."

"Yeah, but he's also a bit anti-capitalist."

"How does that go over?"

"We argue about politics and economics a lot. And also… he's a jock."

" _Really_?"

"Yeah. But he's not unenlightened."

"Unlike most jocks?" Eric asked.

"No offense meant."

"Well, I'm not unenlightened either. Me and the Dali lama," Eric crossed his fingers.

Nate laughed.

"He's a Cowboys fan. Told me so last time I was in Tibet." Eric scratched his cheek. "Your guy play football?"

"Not now. But he did, some, in high school. I guess he _had_ to. He lived in Texas for a bit."

"It's not actually a _legal_ requirement," Eric told him with a smirk. "Where in Texas?"

"I never asked," Nate said. "Our conversation shifted to another topic. But he lived all over the country. He had sort of nomadic, hippie-type parents, and they moved around a lot when he was a kid."

"So what sport does he play now?"

"Basketball," Nate answered. "Plays for the UCLA Bruins. He was a …he said a walk-on?"

"Means he wasn't recruited. He just showed up for try outs. He must be damn good. Not a lot of people get on college teams that way."

"I haven't had a chance to see him play yet. He plays his first game of the current season this Sunday. I'm actually going to that. I'll have to read _Basketball for Dummies_ first."

"I recruited a kid from the basketball team once, even though he thought football celebrates the worst instincts of American culture." Eric shook his head. "Said some nonsense about it being about aggression, violence, and the taking of land, said…" Eric trailed off. Hippie parents. UCLA. Anti-capitalist. Good at basketball. Played football in high school in Texas. Christ. The world couldn't be that small, could it? "What's his name?"

"Don't laugh."

"Why would I laugh?"

"Well…" Nate said, "…it's kind of a pretentious, gay sounding name."

"Is it Hastings?"

"How in the hell did _you_ know that?"


	34. Moving On

The sound of laughter drifted through the floor vent and up to the bed where Tami lay sleeping, startling her awake. She could hear, between the guffaws and chuckles, a strange clacking. She glanced at the clock, which glowed 2 AM.

Naked, Tami slid out of bed and pulled on some flannel PJs before making her way to the top of the basement stairs. They'd never had basements in Texas, and she'd found it a convenient place to send Eric when he was driving her crazy. It was at once his office and his man cave, but also her storage room. The door was open, and, from the top of the stairs, she could see the glow of one of the two dangling basement bulbs. She took a few more steps down and found Eric and Nate, in thick sweatshirts, playing ping pong. The basement was ten degrees colder than the rest of the house.

"Oh, damn!" yelled Eric, running for a loose ball he'd just missed and plucking it from the floor. "You told me you didn't play any sports!"

"I didn't know you considered ping pong a sport," Nate said.

"It's an Olympic event, son." Eric lined up the ball to serve.

"It's not your serve," Nate told him.

"House rules," Eric insisted, and smacked the ball over. With a loud crack, Nate hit it back. The ball slammed almost soundlessly against Eric's chest, because he'd just noticed Tami, who had by now made her way almost to the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, babe," he said. "We're playing ping pong."

"I can see that, sugar, but could you maybe keep it down a little? It's two in the morning. Y'all are gonna wake Gracie. And I don't want to have to get her back to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," Nate said. "We'll quiet right down."

"Since you're up, babe," Eric said, "is there any of that turkey leftover, or did you put than in the freezer already?"

"I am _not_ making you a turkey sandwich at two in the morning. I don't know what is with you and middle-of-the-night ping pong and expecting sandwiches." She began to clump back up the stairs.

She heard Nate practically giggling. "You're gonna be in hot water tomorrow."

"Nah. One of the ten thousand fantastic things about my wife is that she never stays mad for long. Not over petty things."

Tami shook her head, but she smiled. Eric was going to be groggy in the morning, but, right now, he was playing with his son. "Oh, hell, I'll bring y'all a couple of beers at least,' she hollered down over her shoulder.

"And some pecan pie?" Eric called back.

"Don't push your luck," Nate warned him.

[*]

When the sun streamed through the window the next morning, Tami ventured out of the bedroom and found Nate and Gracie sitting on the living room floor, a Monopoly game spread out across the coffee table. Tami settled into Eric's recliner and yawned.

"There's a few pancakes left if you want them," Nate told her. "And coffee still in the pot."

"Nate, honey, what are you doing up this early? Y'all were up awfully late."

"Well, giggling Gracie here did a backflip on my bed at seven this morning, and I figured I'd better get up and entertain her."

"Gracie!" Tami scolded.

"It's fine, Mrs. Taylor," Nate said, and then pointed to Marvin Gardens, "You're not going to buy that?"

"I told you!" Gracie insisted. "I'm saving all my money."

"Well, my little miser, you know, you've got to spend money to make money."

Gracie seemed to consider this. "I'll buy that one when I land on it." She pointed to Mediterranean. "It's not so much."

Nate shook his head. "You don't want to be a slum lord, Gracie Belle. Trust me."

"So I wait for these?" Gracie asked, pointing to Boardwalk.

"Not necessarily. Luxury investments pay well, but they require extreme investment." He pointed to Marvin Gardens. "The upper-middle class is the best class to target."

Tami laughed, shook her head, and went to get a cup of coffee. After reading some of the paper (Eric was still old fashioned enough to subscribe to a print edition), draining her cup, and taking a shower, she returned to the recliner and discovered that Gracie now had all of the yellow properties and three houses on each one.

"I'm building a nahtourall monolopoly, Mom," Gracie said.

"A what?"

Nate bent and whispered in her ear.

" _Natural_ monopoly," Gracie corrected herself. "It's not a _state_ monopoly. So it's not as in-ee-fish-int!"

Tami raised an eyebrow. "Nate, please tell me when you volunteered to read to her last night, you did not read her Ayn Rand."

He laughed. "No, we took turns reading Dr. Seuss. _The Lorax_. But I did explain how unrealistic it was."

"Because there's no such thing as magical creatures who speak for the trees?" Tami asked.

"No," Nate said, "because it doesn't make any sense for a business man to cut down all those trufula trees without steadily replanting them. They were such a highly profitable and easily renewable commodity. It just wasn't a rational business choice."

"Oh, good Lord." Tami smiled. She felt a hand fall on her shoulder and jumped a little. She looked back to see a sleepy Eric, hair matted, in his sweats and t-shirt. She craned back her neck so he could kiss her good morning.

Nate glanced at his watch. "Why don't we call it a draw?" he asked Gracie. "I've got a flight to catch. I need to pack up."

"What's a draw?" Gracie asked.

"Like a tie. No one wins," Nate says.

"Someone has to win," Gracie insisted.

"She's your daughter all right," Nate said to Eric as he pulled himself up from the floor.

"Or your sister," Coach Taylor shot back with a smile.

 **[*]**

"Don't put those slippers in the closet! I need those slippers!" Grandma Saracen insisted.

"Grandma," Julie said, "You already have slippers on."

She looked down at her feet. "Well, _I_ didn't put those on." She rocked peevishly in her chair.

"And you tripped over that pair last night," Matt reminded her. "Could have broken a hip."

"Oh, Lord, Matthew. I break one little hip and suddenly you're concerned. Not concerned enough to come see us on the Lord's birthday, though, are you? Going to see Coach Taylor instead." She tsked. "Now I love that man. He's a handsome man, but he never would eat my pie. Always saying _no, thank you, ma'am_. At least he was polite. But why are you going to see your _coach_ for _Christmas_?"

"He's my father-in-law, Grandma. Julie's my wife now. You went to the wedding."

"Not seeing your own grandmother on the Lord's own birthday…"

"Loraine, Matt came down for Thanksgiving," Shelby reminded her while gathering and stacking an array of magazines. If it weren't for Shelby's care, Julie thought, Grandma might have ended up on _Hoarders_. "He came all the way from Chicago, and he was here all of yesterday, and he'll be here all of today."

"Chicago! What on earth is a Texas boy like you doing in Chicago!"

"I went to art school there, Grandma, remember?"

"Art?"

"I'm one of the managers for the gallery now. And I sell some of my own art." He pointed to the painting hanging to the left of the hutch behind her worn, comfortable rocker. "I painted that, remember?"

Grandma Saracen looked behind herself. She jumped a little. The chair rocked. "Why, that's good, Matthew! That's very good!" She turned to Shelby, "Did you know my grandson was so talented?"

"I did."

"Draw me something," Grandma Saracen insisted.

"Right now?" Matt asked.

"We have pencils." She looked all around herself. "Shelby, why are you always hiding my pencils?"

"I think I'm going to take a little walk, get some fresh air," Julie said, and slipped out of the house before Matt could shoot her a pleading, puppy dog, please-stay look.

It smelled like fall, but it felt warm to Julie, after adjusting to Chicago. She didn't even take a coat with her, as she would have in her Texas days. She walked with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, down the flat street, past browning grass, little boys playing football in the street, tires hung from trees, soccer practice goals, loose baseball bats lying in yards, and cars on blocks. She didn't miss small town Texas, not really, but she missed the simplicity of her youth.

After a while, she wanted a park bench to sit and rest, but this wasn't Chicago. So she sat on the curb and thought about walking back, borrowing Shelby's car, and going to visit Tyra, if Tyra was even home for Thanksgiving. If not, she could visit Landry. He came home for every holiday, always the dutiful son, and with no girlfriend to pull him to another destination.

Julie fished out her cell phone. Her last text exchange with Tyra was dated four months ago. Even worse, her last text exchange with her high school _best_ friend, Lois, was dated _five_ months ago. Life moved on. Old friends drifted away.

 _In town?_ Julie texted.

A few seconds later, Tyra replied, _Chicago? No, why?_

 _Dillon._

 _God no. I'm in Dallas._

 _Why Dallas?_

 _Seeing a guy. And checking out TCU. Might apply for an MSW program._

 _MSW?_ Julie texted.

Julie's phone rang. When she answered, Tyra said, "Master's in Social Work. I love that you asked about the degree instead of the guy. My mom or sister would have asked about the guy."

"So who _is_ the guy? Anyone serious?"

"Someone hot. No one serious. I don't have time for serious. Not if I'm going to pay TCU tuition."

"Don't worry. You'll get a scholarship, Ms. magna cum laude."

"Thanks. How's Matt?"

"Good. Sold a painting."

"How's Tim?"

"How would I know?" Julie asked.

"You're in Dillon."

"Matt and I might go by the bar later today and say hi to him. After a day with Grandma, Matt's going to need a drink."

"Matt's a saint. But Tim's not tending bar anymore. He got his master carpenter certification. He's doing that full-time now."

"Then why are you asking ME about him?"

"I just want you to tell me if he cut his hair like he threatened to the last time I was home."

"Are you two still hooking up?" Julie asked.

"Just when I'm in town."

"You've got to let that go, Tyra."

"Why? He's great in bed. We're both adults. No one is getting hurt."

"He doesn't have a girlfriend?" Julie asked.

"If he does, that's not my problem."

"But it's not nice to _her_."

"It's not like I'm having an affair with a married man."

Julie tensed. She wondered what Trya would think of her father, if she knew about Nate. "Okay. It's your life."

"How's Landry?" Tyra asked.

Landry never asked how Tyra was. The two had never made any kind of amends. Julie thought they might, if Tyra would just call and apologize for the way she had once treated them. They might even be friends. But it was hard, Julie thought, for anyone to be friends with Tyra. "He's taking a year off to tour with his band before going to law school."

"Seriously?"

"They aren't that bad. You should look them up on Youtube. The Communion."

"Well, if he makes it to Dallas or Houston or Austin, maybe I'll go see a show."

"Just don't break his heart again."

"I don't break hearts anymore. I'm trying to learn how to put them back together."

They said their farewells, and Julie returned to the house and asked to borrow Shelby's car. Matt was going to be stuck playing Parcheesi with Grandma. Julie kissed his ear and whispered, "You're a good grandson. It's sexy. I can't wait to screw you later."

That at least left him with a huge grin when the screen door swayed shut behind her.

[*]

"How's your brother?" Landry asked as he slid a slice of pumpkin pie across the table to Julie and sat down in the chair opposite her. His dad was apparently at work, and his mother was watching T.V. in the living room.

"He's at my – our – dad's for Thanksgiving. Well, I guess he's flying to L.A. by now. For business."

"Does your Dad know he's gay?"

"What?"

"I'm just trying to picture Coach Taylor reacting to his son being gay. I bet it would be hilarious."

"What makes you think he's gay?"

"Oh," Landry said, looking at her with a hand resting on either of his legs. "I just assumed you knew."

"How do _you_ know? _Do_ you even know?"

"I asked him. When we shared that hotel room. Because he kept looking at me. I mean, I know I'm impossible for girls to resist, but…"

"And what did he say?"

"He said, _You're not my type_."

"So, a joke. That hardly means he's gay."

"Then I woke up in the middle of the night because he was talking on the phone to his boyfriend. Some guy in L.A. Basketball player, from the sound of it."

"So his assistant is _not_ his boyfriend! Matt was wrong!"

"What?"

"We have a little bet going. Matt just lost. He bet Nate was gay and that his assistant Joshua was his boyfriend."

"Well, Nate _is_ gay. So it sounds to me like Matt just won."

"You always take Matt's side, don't you?"

Landry smiled. "Bros before hos."

Julie lifted her pie-coated fork. "Watch out I don't stick this in your eye."

"And who knows, he could have two boyfriends. Or three. Or four. Joshua might just be one of them."

"I doubt that very much. He said he doesn't do casual sex."

"Maybe it's not casual. Maybe he loves them all. Deeply, madly, passionately."

"Maybe you're an idiot."

Landry laughed. "Maybe I am. Maybe I should have gone straight to law school. I haven't saved a dime on this bar tour. All of our earnings have gone to living and band expenses, and my parents are pissed I didn't go straight to law school. They're saying they won't help me at all with the tuition now when I _do_ go."

"Can't you get a scholarship?"

"Sure, if I go second tier. Not if I go to Harvard."

"Just go to UT-Austin. Get in-state tuition. It's in the top twenty for law schools, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I'm a top-10 kind of guy."

"You're a top-10 _something._ " She smiled and took another bite of pie.


	35. Reminiscing

"Lights out, sweetie," said Tami, putting her hand on the switch.

Gracie had already dropped her book across her chest and was half asleep, but she protested anyway. "Just one more chapter!"

"No. It's already 20 minutes past lights out."

Graice sighed, picked up the book, closed it, and lay it on her night stand. Roald Dahl's _Matilda._ This was her third time reading it. The first had been with Tami, who helped her with a few of the words. Tami didn't know what it meant, that her daughter's favorite book was about a brilliant little girl who was unappreciated by her boorish parents.

"One more hug and a kiss?" Tami asked.

Gracie outstretched her arms. Tami came over to her bed and hugged her close. When Gracie kissed her cheek, she said, "I love you, Mommy." Tuck-in was the only time Gracie still called her Mommy. Otherwise, it was always Mom. But Eric was still Daddy, 24/7. Tami supposed Eric would be Daddy for life.

Tami had just poured herself a glass of wine, lit the fire in the fire place, and settled on the living room couch when the front door opened. Eric soon slid down next to her, plucking off his forest green cap and laying it on the coffee table. With a weary sigh, he leaned back his head and half closed his eyes.

She put her hand on his knee. "That was a long coaches' meeting."

"I know. Sorry. But it's playoffs tomorrow."

She patted his knee. "I know, sugar. You'll win. I believe in you."

He raised his head straight and turned to look at her. "Because you're a crazy woman."

She chuckled and kissed him. When she put a hand over his shoulder and squeezed, she felt how tense he was. "You need a little pre-game relaxation?"

"You mean a shoulder rub?" he asked.

"Or another kind of rub."

His eyes brightened. "You don't mind? We just did it yesterday. I don't usually get two nights in a row. And if I win tomorrow...that'll be three."

"Might be three even if you lose."

"Really?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Eric."

He smiled. "I'd rather do something else with your mouth anyway."

She shook her head. "Not suave, Coach Taylor. I can always retract my gift offer at any time if you fail to perform to my satisfaction."

"You look very beautiful today," he said softly. "Did you do something different with your hair?"

"No."

"Must be the radiance of those gorgeous baby blues giving it a new sheen."

She laughed.

He glanced around the living room. "The house looks really nice. Did you clean today?'

"No."

"Must just be your smile brightening up the room." He took the glass of wine from her hand and set it on the coffee table. "You're the best wife a man could ask for." He kissed her, and she laughed beneath his lips. "I love you, Tami." His voice grew low. "I want you." He buried his hand in her hair and kissed her more passionately. This time, she stopped laughing and responded, slipping her tongue into his awaiting mouth.

When their kiss had deepened, and their breaths had thickened, he pulled away slightly. "I need you, Tami," he whispered. That's no line. That's just the God's honest truth."

"You better take me then."

[*]

Afterwards, they showered together, pulled on warm sweats, re-ignited the fire that had dwindled to ash while they were pleasantly preoccupied, and settled onto the couch to finish the bottle of wine Tami had opened. Eric told her about his previous night's conversation with Nate, the wife, the divorce, the new guy, everything.

"Hastings Ruckle?" Tami asked. "Did you know he was gay?"

Eric shook his head. "Did you?"

"Well, you knew him better than I did!"

"Yeah, but you're the counselor, a woman with her finger on the pulse of this generation."

She laughed. "I don't know about that." Those words had been in speech Glen had given at her going away party. "And you're more perceptive than you think, Eric. He must have been deep in the closet."

"Well…I guess there were signs, in retrospect. I don't remember him ever having a girlfriend. And once I heard the guys laughing about how he gave away the porn mags the rally girls left in his locker."

Tami sighed and rolled her eyes. "I hate that. I hate that whole rally girl thing."

"I know you do."

"Did you get porn in your locker from your rally girls?"

"I just got brownies. We lived in a more innocent time."

Tami raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember it being that innocent."

"Well, maybe not _overall_ , but not nearly as many girls were throwing sexual favors at boys right and left, like they seem to be doing today. That's why these boys today don't know how to open doors or write a love letter or pick up a dropped book."

Tami chuckled. "Did you really just get brownies?"

"Why? What did you give Mo?"

"He was my _boyfriend_. So…"

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" he asked.

"You don't want to know."

"Fair enough."

"Brownies?" she asked. "Really? Just…brownies?"

"Yes, just brownies. Of course, some of the brownies I got my junior year had hash in them. Which I did _not_ know. I just thought they tasted kind of funny. But I was hungry after practice."

"Seriously? I wish we'd gone to the same school our junior year. I would have _loved_ to have seen you high."

"I'm not fun high. Trust me."

"I bet you're loose though."

"Hash has nothing on your love, Tami."

Her eyes sparkled in an echo of her laughter. "Well, it's a good thing that back in high school I made you wait for sex a few weeks so you could learn some good lines."

"A few weeks? You made me wait a lifetime!"

She put a hand on his cheek and pouted. "You poor thing."

He kissed the palm of her hand. She lowered it and poured them both some more wine.

"I wasn't loose when I realized what was in the brownies, though. I freaked out," he said. "I thought I might get kicked off the team for drug use, or that Nancy Reagan might come down from the White House and personally kick my ass."

"Not even pot relaxes you, huh?"

He shook his head.

"I can't believe I didn't know this about the brownies. I can't believe we've been married over a quarter of a century and there is still something I didn't know about you."

"It hardly seems fair." He peered at her over his wine glass. "So tell me something I don't know about you."

"Like what?"

"I don't know...Like the time you had that naked pillow fight with half the cheerleading squad."

"Your fantasies are so trite." She tried not to smile. "Okay, I'll tell you something. I'll tell you the moment I first began to fall in love with you."

He lowered his wine glass. "Our fourth date?" he guessed. "When I gave you that mixed tape?"

"God, no. Your taste in music was awful back then. At the homecoming dance."

"Homecoming? You were with Mo. We didn't even start dating until February. You barely knew me at Homecoming. I was the new kid."

"I know. But you didn't come to the dance with anyone."

"I didn't feel like I knew any girl well enough to ask," he said.

"Any girl probably would have said yes, Eric."

"Maybe, but I didn't know if _I_ wanted to spend an _entire evening_ with any of them. Figured I'd get to know a few at the dance." He smiled. " _Then_ take my pick."

"And you wore a full suit, which none of the other guys did." Most just had on khakis and button down shirts.

"Well, it's what guys did in my old school," he said. "I had no idea. It doesn't make sense, girls getting all dolled up, and guys showing up looking like slobs. But I felt like an ass when I showed up all dressed up."

"Maybe you felt like an ass, but you didn't show it. You played it cool. You came off as the guy who doesn't care what anyone things of him. And you looked fantastic in that suit. All the girls wanted to dance with you."

"Not all of them. Not _you_ , Ms. Homecoming Queen."

"You never asked."

"I didn't want to tick off Mo."

"Didn't stop you from kissing me under the mistletoe at the Christmas party."

"I had an excuse to do that. You can't deny tradition."

 _The Christmas lights from the tree twinkled on and off. Tami glanced up at the mistletoe above their heads, and when she looked back at him, Eric was smiling, not with his mouth, but with his eyes. She felt a sudden tremor of expectation. Was he really going to do this, with Mo a few feet away at the punch bowl? He leaned in._

 _Eric's lips touching down on hers and sliding ever so gently across them was like a match striking to fire across a strip, and when he brought his lips back, and pressed them more firmly against hers, Tami thought something was going to burn down. At that very moment, however, Mo shoved him against his shoulder, and Eric stumbled out from under the mistletoe. Mo's lips crushed down on Tami's, and he made quite the scene of making out publicly with her. Eventually, Tami had to pull away. In that moment, Mo seemed to her like a dog marking his territory, and his lips felt more oppressive than pleasant._

 _For months, she had been fighting her feelings for Eric. She was wearing Mo's state ring around her neck, after all, and his letter jacket, and, up until the previous week, Eric had been dating someone. Tami and Mo had been together their entire junior year and half of their senior year. She wasn't ready to move on from him without a good reason, but she would soon discovered an entire trail of good reasons._

"So why did you start to fall for me at the Homecoming dance?" Eric asked.

"Because you asked that lonely girl in the wheelchair to dance, when a bunch of the guys on the team were making jokes about her even being there in the first place."

"Not a _bunch_ of guys. Three guys. And they were assholes about everything."

"Still, you saw how upset she was, and you went right up there, asked if you could please have this dance, and wheeled her out on the dance floor. The _look_ on some of those cheerleader's faces when you did that, too."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I didn't know what the hell to do when we got out there. Luckily, she did some pretty mean wheelies on that floor." That had been the year all the boys were into break dancing. It was a new fad then, and Eric had moon walked around the girl.

Tami smiled. "You were sweet, hon. Sweet as sugar."

"Nah. I wasn't being noble. She was cute. I don't know why the other guys didn't notice."

Tami laughed. "You didn't ask her because she was cute. You had a line of hot girls ready to dance with you, and you had your eye on Mary Anne."

He slid his arm around her shoulder and urged her to lean against him. "There was only one girl in that entire gym I _really_ wanted to dance with."

"Mhm. But you didn't have any problem making out with Mary Anne in the stairwell later that night."

 _Mo tugged on Tami's hand and suggested they leave the dance and get back to his house before his parents got home from their date night._

 _"I just need to stop by my locker," she said. "I left my textbook in there."_

 _"Since when do you care about textbooks?"_

 _"Since I almost flunked Chemistry. I have to study this weekend."_

 _When Tami and Mo started up the stairs, there was Eric, on the first landing, with Mary Anne pressed against the railing, one of his hands on the rail, the other on her hip, and his tongue down her throat. Tami had felt a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy, even though she had the star wide receiver's hand in her hand and was about to be in his bed. Eric heard the footsteps, pulled away, and flushed a beet red. Mo chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Good to see you're settling in, new kid._

 _"His name's Aaron," Tami said, rolling her eyes. "Not new kid."_

 _"It's uh…it's Eric actually," Eric muttered._

Eric now kissed the top of her head. "I was just biding time, babe, until you came to your senses and dumped Mo."

"Did you sleep with her? Mary Anne?"

"Not _that_ night. I told you, our generation had to work harder for sex."

"But eventually, you did."

"I dated Mary Anne the entire football season, you know. You make it sound like I was a stud. I only ever went all the way with three girls in my life, including you."

"Four," Tami corrected him, and felt an instinctive spasm in her heart, which immediately unclenched itself. The spasm in Eric's muscles, however, did not fade. Tami could feel the tension in his arm around her shoulders. She hated these moments, when she accidentally stirred the pot of his guilt, or the now-calm sea of her ancient pain. "So how did Nate even meet Hastings?" she asked quickly.

He swallowed. His muscles relaxed a bit, but not entirely. He pulled her tighter.

"I mean," she said, "that just doesn't make any sense, that they would know each other."

A little breath escaped Eric, a sign of relief, perhaps. He put his feet up on the coffee table. "They met in a gay bar in L.A. Nate was there for business, with Joshua, and Joshua talked him into going. He was trying to get Nate to admit to himself that...you know. Hastings is out there for college. Playing basketball now. For the Bruins. Can't believe he went back to that sport when he could have played football..." Eric shook his head.

"He didn't get any scholarship offers."

"No, but if he walked on the basketball team, he probably could have walked on the football team instead."

"How did you handle it?" Tami asked. "When Nate told you?"

"Well, I was…I just listened. Asked questions. Tried to show interest. But I don't like it. I don't like Nate seeing him."

"I understand that you might be a little uncomfortable with Nate's homosexuality at the moment, but I know you, and I know - "

"- It's not _that_. It's…I wouldn't want my _daughter_ dating Hastings."

"He wasn't a bad kid, was he? I don't remember him giving you too much trouble."

"Nah, he wasn't a _bad_ kid, he was just...he's no Matt."

"There are very few Matt Saraceans in this world, Eric."

"Ruckle sat down and took off his helmet once. During practice!"

Tami looked at him and blinked. "Eric, you've picked up players when they were too drunk to drive before, you've caught them playing mailbox baseball, you've busted them using steroids, and you've even bailed them out of jail. And _that's_ what bothers you?"

"He was just...smug. Cocky. He was kind of a cocky kid. Frankly, I don't know what Nate sees in him."

"Well…he's extremely good-looking."

"First off - why were you noticing that any teenage boy was extremely good-looking, and second off - are you suggesting my son is shallow?"

"First off, it's a purely objective observation. Second off, no, I don't think Nate is shallow, but I think he's clearly on the rebound. And a free spirit like Hastings, who's good-looking and lives on the other side of the country, might just be the right medicine at the right time."

"So you don't think this will last?"

"It seems unlikely to me, hon, but, before you knew who it was, you thought Nate was pretty smitten, didn't you?"

"I did. But maybe it's just infatuation. This is his first time with uh...with a guy. You're probably right. You usually are." He leaned down slightly and kissed her.

"Or, if, by some rare fluke, I _am_ wrong, you can learn to think more highly of Hastings."

"He was a good wide receiver."

"There you go. It's a start."

"He thought we used cups in football, Tami. Cups."

Tami chuckled, shook her head, and stood up. "I'm going to bed. I have to go into work a little bit early tomorrow morning before your game. You should come to bed, too. You must be exhausted, as little sleep as you got last night."

Eric stood and placed a hand on the small of her back. "If I win this game, Nate will come to State."

"You better win then, sugar."


	36. Taking Risks

"Oh no…." Gracie groaned from where she stood in the stands. "That's not good, is it?"

"The Pioneers still have a chance," Tami assured her. She wrapped a scarf around Gracie's neck.

Gracie took it off again. "I'm not cold."

Gracie was more accustomed to Pennsylvania then any of them. She didn't say y'all, and she didn't need gloves or scarves in fall. She didn't even think the traffic was that bad. To her, it was just normal.

The Crusaders went for two and, to Tami's relief, failed. It had been a slow game, with territory gained a few feet at a time. The score, late in the third quarter, now stood at 12 - 6 in the opponent's favor.

Tami watched as Eric called a time out. He conversed, head bent, with his second string quarterback. When the game resumed, and the players were trotting back to the field, the second string went with them. It was a unpredictable call, Tami thought, this late in the game, with Pemberton behind. Tami wondered what Eric thought his second string could do that his first string could not, and she foresaw some sort of hail mary play. If he won with such a gamble, he would be the darling of Pemberton, but if he lost, he would never hear the end of taking such a risky move. At least they would not have to come home to For Sale signs in the yard or fear a brick through a window as they had in Dillon. The fervor over football was less pronounced in Philly, and Eric's job was not at risk. However, his future aspirations might be - the Athletic Director for U-Penn was among the crowd this afternoon.

Eric glanced up in the stands at Tami as he took his place along the sidelines. She blew him a kiss on gloved fingertips. He smiled faintly. He looked haggard. Tami said a quiet prayer, _Please don't let my husband lose this one. It's important to him._ She supposed plenty of other people in the stands and on that field were praying similar prayers, and maybe it wasn't quite appropriate, but it gave her a partial sense of relief.

The whistle blew. "And there's the hand off," the announcer said. There was movement on the field, but Tami couldn't tell quite what was going on. "Look at him go!" the announcer shouted. "Look at him go! Look at - Wait a minute. Hold on. Who has the ball?"

[*]

"Time for my backrub," Julie said as she sat down on the love seat between Matt's legs.

They'd just gotten back from Chicago O'Hare and had yet to unpack from their Thanksgiving trip. Matt had to go to the gallery in an hour, and Julie needed to get some serious writing done. She had a term paper due in a week, which she was writing in lieu of a final for one of her classes.

"What do you mean?" Matt said. "I was right. Nate _is_ gay."

"Yes, but his assistant is _not_ his boyfriend."

"I thought we were just betting on whether or not he was gay."

"No, I think the bet included both parts," Julie insisted. She wiggled her back. "Now rub, Saracen."

"I'd love to rub…" He rocked his hips so as to slide up and down slightly against her back.

She leaped up, kicked his legs closed, and sat next to him on the love seat. "God, you are _so_ sophomoric sometimes, Matthew."

"I can't help it if my body likes you."

"Has that line ever worked for you? With any girl?"

"I've never tried it with any girl. But it worked for Tim Riggins."

"Well, Tim…he has…virtues."

"What?" Matt asked. "How would _you_ know?"

"I've just _heard_. But you have virtues, too."

"Yeah?" he asked. "What are those?"

She smiled. "You're kind of cute. And creative. And sweet, when you aren't rubbing uninvited against me like an annoying dog in heat."

"I'm also good at winning bets. Should I get my sketchpad?"

Julie shook her head. "I'm not accepting that as a win."

"Fine." Matt shrugged. "Anyway...I've been thinking. Maybe it's not really nice to bet on whether or not someone is gay. I mean…you know…because Nate maybe has feelings. And it's not about us."

Julie bit her bottom lip. "Why are you always so good? You make me feel…bad."

"I could try to be more insensitive, if you want."

She laughed. "No thank you." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Besides, you're the one who suggested the bet in the first place. Hey, maybe _I'm_ the good one."

"Not possible."

She snickered. "So it's a draw then. No one wins."

"Or," he suggested, "we _both_ could. I'll trade you a week of backrubs for an hour sitting."

She sat up and turned to him. "A week? It was a month."

"Fine. A month."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure it's worth it to me. That's just going to be so awkward."

He looked at her with those puppy dog eyes. "Come on. You're beautiful, and you know I've wanted to do this for a long time now. Please? Consider it my Christmas present."

She sighed. Matt really didn't ask for much. He worked hard, and he was as dependable as a rock. Perhaps she could force herself to get over her reticence on this matter. "Okay." He grinned, that big dopey smile that, no matter how irritated she was, always made her heart flutter just a little. "But," she warned him, "and this is very, very important - next time my parents come to visit, make sure that drawing is well hidden."

"Not a problem," Matt said. "I'll probably have sold it by then anyway."

[*]

Eric was famished when he stepped out of the locker room, and they went to the nearest restaurant they could find, which just so happened to be an Applebee's.

"A hundred places to eat in this city," Tami grumbled, "and we end up here."

"I like it," Eric insisted.

"You're just a creature of habit."

The truth was, sitting in the familiar setting of this chain restaurant made him long for home. He didn't know when Philadelphia was going to _be_ home.

 _Home is where you hang your hat,_ Clarence had told him one day, when Eric was saying _down home we did_ this _, back home we did_ that _…_ That was true, Eric knew. Home, ultimately, was wherever Tami was. She was home to him. But…well…Texas was home too.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and Eric startled. He dropped his menu to the table. "Great game, Coach," a man said, and then held out his hand. Eric shook it. He could feel his face warming, and wondered how big his grin was. He wasn't used to this kind of recognition in Pennsylvania. Oh, sure, he got awards at banquets and school assemblies, and he was written up in the school newspaper, and mentioned here or there in sports news section of the free, local paper, but it was rare that anyone stopped him while he was wandering about in public either to congratulate or admonish him. Part of him was glad for the quieter life, the lack of interruptions, and the privacy, but part of him missed the importance of it all. He'd learned, sometime after failing to make the NFL, probably sometime during those marriage counseling sessions, to find his sense of self-worth in something other than the applause of men, but it still felt good to hear it every now and then.

"Thank you," he muttered, trying not to sound as proud as he was, and the man walked on.

"You know him, hon?" Tami asked.

"No idea who he is," Eric admitted.

"Does he teach at Pemberton?"

"I don't think so. Haven't seen him around if he does." It was a big school, though. He might not recognize everyone. "Might have just been a local sports fan."

"We're not in Dillon, sweetheart."

"You don't have to tell me that." He tapped the menu and looked across the table at Gracie. "Let me guess, Bells. Chicken fingers?"

"No," Gracie told him, switching to a kneeling position in her chair. Tami poked her with a single finger to urge her to sit properly, which she did, and then said, "I've decided to become a vegetarian like Nate."

"Oh really?" Tami asked, closing her menu. "Like Nate? Not like your big sister Jules?"

"Well, Nate's my big brother."

Tami smiled at Eric over the table while speaking to Gracie, "I think maybe Nate knows the way to your heart, Gracie Belle. "

"I'll just get the salad."

"You're actually going to eat something green?" Eric asked her. "This'll be a first." His cell phone rang. He fished it out and was about to turn it off when he saw who it was. He glanced at Tami. "It's Nate. Do you mind - "

"- Go ahead, hon," she said. "I'll order for you." As he stood and answered, she concluded, "A nice, vegetarian salad."

He walked outside of the restaurant and wandered the sidewalk as he talked.

"I was just calling to see how your playoff game went," Nate said.

Eric felt a surge of pleasure to think Nate cared enough to check. It was an odd feeling, to want the approval of the son he'd never raised, but, for some reason he did. "It was close. It went into overtime, but my boys pulled it off. We won."

"Congratulations. When's the State Tournament?"

"Championship," Eric said. "State Championship. It's in two weeks, on a Saturday. It's going to be in Hershey Park Stadium. Afternoon game. Still think you can make it?"

"Yeah, I can manage that. I'll have to reschedule a trip, but I'll make it work. I suppose I'll have to take Gracie to Chocolate World before or after the game."

Eric chuckled. "You don't have to do any of that, Nate, really. She'll like you without all that."

"I _want_ to. I never had siblings, growing up. I'll never have kids."

The certainty of that last statement inexplicably pained Eric. "Well, I'm sure she'll love that. I'll be leaving with the team bus early in the morning, so you should talk to my wife about the details...we'll figure it out. Any success in L.A.? You were trying to get some account."

"I didn't score as well as you. The old lady's not giving it to me. She wants to hold onto control of one account to play with herself. It's like her own Las Vegas. She's running it into the ground, but she wants to play."

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's all right. I'm not exactly living paycheck to paycheck."

"And how…." He did not want to ask this, but he knew he should. "How's…uh…Hastings?"

"I haven't been able to meet up with him yet. I'll see him for dinner in a couple of hours. It's three hours earlier here. Listen. He isn't… _out out_. So, if you would keep – "

"- I never talk to anybody about anybody else's personal business."

"Good. And, you should know, I'm not exactly _out out_ either. My uncles don't know. One of them would be…he'd probably be uncomfortable with it if he did. The other would probably be fine, but I haven't mentioned it to him yet."

"I got you." Eric was a little surprised that he should know this truth before either of the two men who had actually helped to raise Nate. He wondered what Nate's uncles were to him – were they like fathers, big brothers, or aloof uncles, who lived nearby but flitted in and out of his life, visiting on holidays and for momentous occasions, but mostly preoccupied with their own affairs? He also wondered if his mother had known he was gay, or at least suspected it, since Nate himself hadn't dated a guy until after her death.

"And uh," Nate said, "I guess maybe I'm wondering how out we are."

Eric had walked back to the Applebee's by now. He leaned against one of the outer walls and put one hand in his coat pocket for warmth. "Us?"

"I mean…can I mention you to Hastings? If I do, he's going to want to know how I know you. And if he does ask, you know, should I tell him the truth? Or do you want me to make something up? Like you were friends with my mother? Like I'm a godson or something?"

"Can I talk to my wife about that? Before you say anything to him."

"Sure. And hey, if you don't want me to say anything, don't worry, I won't."

"It's not…" Eric didn't want the kid to think he was embarrassed by him in any way. "I don't care myself, but I just, you know, Hastings knows guys who are still in Dillon, and if a lot of people we know end up knowing I - " He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, and lowered his voice, "once cheated on her, and they don't know the context, that could be, for her it could be - "

"- Look, I get it. I do."

"A'ight," Eric sighed, hoping Nate really _did_ get it. "I...uh…I want to say I'm proud to have you as my son, but I know I didn't do anything to raise you. It would be presumptuous of me to say that. But if I had...I'd be proud."

Nate was silent for a while. Eric almost wondered if they'd been disconnected. "Thank you for sort of…you know…making me part of your family. Other than my two uncles, I don't really have much in the way of family. And, honestly, I haven't seen them all that much since my mom got really sick. I guess she was the one mostly driving that family connection. I'm still kind of pissed off at them for how little they came around when she was toward the end there. I guess it was hard for them, watching their baby sister die. But it was hard for me, too."

"Well, I'm here, Nate. Any time."

"Thanks..." Nate coughed. "I have to go," he said hastily, and hung up. Eric would have done the same thing, he supposed, if he was about to break down and cry.

Eric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was about to go back inside the Applebee's when Julie called. He remained out in the crisp evening fall air. It had grown completely dark, but the shops and restaurants were ablaze with Christmas lights. He switched hands so he could warm the other in his jacket pocket, and he wondered what he'd done with his gloves. In the SUV, probably. He told his eldest - well, his second eldest now, he supposed - that they'd won the game, and she congratulated him.

"So," Julie said, "The week before Christmas is super busy for Matt at the gallery. He can't get off anything that week except Christmas day. He's working Christmas Eve. It's their biggest sales time. And he has to work all through New Year's. They have that big gallery party New Year's eve. And I can get some extra hours at the paper."

"Listen, your mamma was really expecting y'all to come down for the holidays. She's going to be – "

"- Chillax, Dad. I have a proposal."

Eric hated when she told him to _chillax_. The slangy, grating combination of words was annoying enough, but the lack of respect irked him more. At this point, however, with her well out from under his roof, and living with her husband, and about to graduate college and finally start a full-time, salaried job (he _hoped_ ), there wasn't much point in saying anything about it. "Shoot."

"Matt and I will come to State."

"Really?" Eric hadn't imagined they'd be able to make the trip. He wasn't even planning to ask.

"Yeah. And we'll stay all weekend, and we can have an early family Christmas on Sunday, give Gracie her presents, all that stuff."

"Your mom's not going to like doing Christmas on any day but Christmas. She's very traditional about that stuff."

"Yeah. Mom. _Mom's_ not going to like it."

"She's not," Eric insisted.

"Well, tell _Mom_ she can have a full-on family Christmas on the Sunday after State, or she can just go without the family Christmas this year."

Eric sighed. "A'ight. Hey, Nate's coming to State too. Maybe we could have him join us? For the family Christmas? Would that bother you?"

"Thanks for checking with me first. No, it wouldn't. I like Nate. Even though I tried not to for awhile. But it's Mom you better check with."

"I will of course. But I'm certain she'll say yes."

Eric's stomach growled.

"I can hear that all the way through the phone," Julie told him.

"You know I can never eat before a game without wanting to throw up."

"Well you better go eat now, then."

When Eric returned to the table, he had a rack of ribs sitting in his spot instead of the threatened salad. He did notice Tami had ordered him broccoli instead of fries, though. He slid into his chair, across from Gracie, who was picking at the salad she'd ordered.

"Why is this so bitter?" the girl asked. "Can I have the chicken fingers?"


	37. No Dirty Secrets

Tami noticed that when women got together, one of their favorite past-times was to complain about their husbands. She had learned in marriage counseling, however, that if she had an issue with her husband, she should raise it with him gently but directly, rather than vent about it behind his back. Her regular practice of frankness made Eric uncomfortable, but it prevented buried resentments and longer-term grief, and it also meant she refused to engage in the moan-and-groan sessions of her peers. She did, however, listen silently to their complaints, some petty, some serious, and occasionally she ventured to offer a suggestion. Over the years, she'd noticed that a less-than-satisfactory sex life was a common complaint of many married women.

Sometimes the husbands wanted sex too often; increasingly these days, however, as her peer-group reached their 40s and 50s, the complaint was that the husbands wanted sex too seldom. (Tami couldn't imagine such a day ever dawning; for her, that beam had yet to even balance.) Often, when a husband _did_ want sex, these women complained, he wasted little to no time in romantic pursuit and foreplay. But Eric, Tami thought, enjoyed the chase. He was less thrilled by sex without effort. He was not a fan of participation trophies. A victory had to be earned.

And then there were the women who complained about performance issues, the fumble, the incomplete pass, or the unskilled touch. Tami seldom had cause for complaint in that arena either. Eric approached sex the same way he approached football - with a combination of passion and careful planning. She had once, many years ago, walked in on him reading a book. She had glimpsed only the naked forms on the cover, and he had shoved it in his nightstand drawer so hastily that she thought it must be porn. When she investigated later, however, she found it was a sex guide, a how-to-please book of sorts. She never had a chance to read it before he relocated the book to a better hiding place, but, based on the results alone, she would have rated it five stars. He had been a good lover before reading it, but he was a better lover after.

So, given all this, Tami expected tonight's post-playoff sex to be fantastic, and she was not disappointed.

When the wave of her second climax swept over her, and Tami muffled her groan against the rippling muscles of his left shoulder, Eric let go the last thread of his restraint, cried her name, and shuddered. Satisfied and exhausted, she settled against the warmth of his naked flesh, her head on the firm pillow of his rising and falling chest. As he drew circles on her back and recovered his breath, she dozed off.

He was usually the one to be awoken by her words, but tonight it was Tami who drifted off and then back at the sound of his voice. "...Nate...tell...feel about it?"

She struggled to focus on what he was saying. "What did you say?"

"Nate wants to know if he can tell Hastings I'm his father. I wasn't sure how you would feel about it."

"Well, Gracie knows you're his father. Julie knows. Even Coach Washington and Dr. Moore know." At Thanksgiving, they had introduced Nate as Eric's "son from a prior relationship." A slight untruth, but a convenient one.

"But...Hastings still knows people in Dillon. And a lot of people in Dillon know exactly when we were married. If word got back...and if they do the math...assumptions might be made."

"Then they can gossip among themselves."

"It won't bother you?" he asked.

"Nate can't be your dirty little secret, Eric, not if you really want to build a relationship with him, and I think you do."

"I do. I just don't want to do anything that's going to upset you."

"Are you sure it's _only_ about me?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sweet, sugar, and I know you do care about by feelings. But I think you're ashamed of what you did, and because you're ashamed, _you_ don't want people to know."

Eric was silent.

"You're afraid people will think less of you. And I understand that, hon. They don't know you like I know you. They might see you as some secret hypocrite."

He swallowed.

"But I think that's a risk you have to take."

He ran a hand up and down her back, but still didn't say anything.

"Did Clarence do the math?"

"I don't think he knows how old Nate is or precisely how long you and I have been married. Although...maybe he does. I talked to him about what to buy you for our last anniversary."

She smiled against his chest. "Well, Clarence has good taste."

"It was _my_ idea," he insisted. "I just bounced it off him."

"It's nice you have a friend, Eric. Not a Buddy sort of friend. A real friend."

"Yeah." He hugged her close. "Of course, you're my best friend. Can't talk to anyone like I talk to you." He kissed the top of her head. She yawned.

"Goodnight, babe," he told her, and she didn't hear another word.

[*]

Eric rewound the game tape. He paused and pointed to the screen. "Our defense has to do something about that kid."

Coach Clarence Washington rubbed his eyes. He put his feet up on the coffee table. He was on the Salvation Army couch they'd picked up for the office. Eric was in a rolling desk chair, with a clipboard on his lap, a pencil behind his ear, and the remote in his hand.

"Coach," Clarence said. "It's 8 PM. Don't you have a gorgeous wife to be getting home to?"

Eric sighed and clicked off the TV. "I'm keyed up. I don't want to go home just yet."

"Tami can't relax you?" Clarence asked with a smirk.

"I'm not getting any tonight. I think I met her quota last week."

Clarence chuckled.

"You want to stop by the pub?" Eric asked. "Get a drink?"

"I'm game, but...Tami won't mind you coming home that late?"

"I annoy her when I'm this keyed up. If I go home now, she'll just send me to the basement."

"Fine by me then. I could use a drink."

Eric fished out his phone and texted Tami to let her know where he was going and when he expected to be home. Back when they were recovering form the affair, it would have been easier if they had cell phones. In those days, he was having to find a landline two to three times a day to call her. He'd tell her where he was, who he was with, and when he'd be home, and then he would tilt the phone so she could hear what was going on in the background and be reassured. He didn't remember, precisely, when he had stopped doing that, or when she had stopped needing it. It was probably a huge step forward, and yet it had just happened, unmarked. Their love had been like that, a gradual evolution. It had snuck up on them, this contentment.

At the bar, Eric ordered a scotch and Coach Washington got a beer. "I can only stay thirty minutes," Clarence said. "Got a lady coming over at 10."

"On a Tuesday?"

"Like you never get laid on a Tuesday."

"Just...I didn't think Tuesday was a date night for single people," Eric said, and raised his glass in Clarence's direction. "Congratulations."

Clarence laughed.

"Who is she?" Eric asked.

"A neighbor. We've been flirting for a month. Finally had her over for dinner Saturday night. One thing led to another and...well...she's stopping by again tonight."

"Don't let her distract you from State," Eric warned.

Clarence gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir, Coach, sir." He sipped his beer, swirled it, and said, "It's weird. I was with my wife for so long, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Is Tami the best sex you've ever had?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not to get personal - "

"- That's pretty personal."

"It's just...this was so different, you know?"

"Worse different?" Eric asked.

"Better, different," Clarence said.

"Well, it's been a while for you. I guess it's always exciting the first time with someone new. But that fades, if there's not...you know...if there's not more there."

"She's not the first woman I've had sex with since my wife died. She's the third."

"Oh. Didn't realize." Eric couldn't imagine moving on if Tami died. He supposed he might, but he couldn't _imagine_ it. How could anyone compare, except negatively? It wouldn't be fair to some other woman, to be living under Tami's shadow. That woman, whoever she might be, would deserve more than that.

"I was just surprised at how...amazing it was," Clarence said. "That's why I asked. Makes me wonder...you commit yourself to one woman. You don't know what you're missing out on. Maybe the _next_ one will be even more amazing."

"The grass is not always greener," Eric told him.

"I take it Tami was the best you ever had."

"The best and the worst, of course." He smiled and sipped his scotch. "I've had her a _lot_."

Clarence chuckled. They sipped in silence for awhile, glancing up at the television screens above the bar. "How long you been married?" Clarence asked.

"Long time."

"That son of yours I met at Thanksgiving...he said he was twenty-four?"

"Did he?"

"Is he?" Clarence asked.

"Uh...yeah."

"So, I never did well in math, but if you've been married...I mean...you know what I'm saying?"

"Tami and I...we had a rough first year. We were separated. Not legally, but, I uh..." Damn, Tami was right, wasn't she? His concern was, at least in part, about himself. "I cheated on her," he admitted.

" _You?_ " Clarence asked. "On _Tami_?"

"It was the worst thing I've ever done in my life, and if I could go back in time..." He shook his head. "I made amends, as much as I could, and I've been faithful ever since. We've both changed. We changed our marriage." Eric looked at him warily and wondered how much respect he had lost.

"I almost cheated on my late wife once," Coach Washington said. "I came this close." He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "But the temptress changed jobs. And I honestly don't know if I was a faithful man because of my virtue or just because I missed my window of opportunity."

Eric took another sip of his scotch and slid his cocktail napkin around on the bar.

"I did love her. We were married fifteen years. Nothing like you and Tami, but...I did love her."

"I know you did."

"Do you think you could ever love again," Clarence asked, "if you lost Tami?"

"I suppose I could love someone enough. I don't guess I'd want to be alone. But...I couldn't love anyone like I love Tami now. The kind of love we have was decades in the making. I don't have _time_ to love like that again." He drained the rest of his scotch and laid some money on the bar. "I think maybe I'm going to get on home after all."

When he did arrive home, Gracie was asleep and Tami was sitting crosslegged on the couch with her laptop on her lap, typing away heatedly at the keys. He eased down next to her. "You were right," he said.

She stopped typing and saved whatever she'd been working on. "About what?"

"About me being one huge coward. I don't want people to know I ever cheated on you."

"I never said you were a _coward_ , Eric. It's a natural reluctance. And I'm sure you were concerned about me _too_."

He searched her eyes. "I love you."

"I know you do."

He smiled, his eyes coming as close to a roll as they ever came. He nodded to her computer. "Shut that thing down. Let's cuddle and watch a movie before bed. Your choice."

"You know, you got laid four days in a row last week." Despite the victory screw, she'd generously thrown in some Sabbath sex as well, after church, during their Mommy-Daddy nap time.

"I'm not trying to get laid. I just want to hold you."

She snickered.

"Tami, I'm not kidding. I'm not working toward anything tonight."

She closed her computer and set it on the coffee table. "Then you're sitting through a romantic comedy, mister. And you're opening the Proseco. And you're getting Gracie off to school tomorrow while I take my sweet time getting ready for work."

"You're really going to milk this affectionate mood of mine, aren't you?" he asked.

She smiled. Her eyes twinkled. She was so beautiful to him, more beautiful even than she had been that night he had kissed her for the first time beneath the mistletoe, in the midst of his teenage infatuation.

"Damn right I am," she said.


	38. Envy

"I wonder if Nate would let me sketch you naked on the hood of that car," Matt said as the Ferrari eased to the curb just outside of baggage claim.

Despite Julie's agreement to sit for the sketch, she'd been putting it off. _After_ State, she kept promising him. She probably hoped he was going to forget about it.

Matt walked to the trunk and tried not to envy Nate his car as he threw in their bags. He bet Nate had never in his life had to duct tape a black plastic trash bag to an open window frame until he could afford to fix the broken glass.

"This is not exactly a family car," Matt said as he lowered the front seat to ease into the back, leaving Julie the shotgun position. Gracie was back there, in a booster seat. Matt extended his hand, palm up, and she slapped him five.

After Julie was situated, Nate pulled into the traffic circling the airport. "Well I don't have a family. And chicks dig it."

"And that matters because….why?" Matt regretted his question, especially with Gracie sitting right there, but it was too late. The words were already out.

Nate, however, handled it suavely, as he seemed to handle everything. "Gracie likes to be transported in style. Right, Gracie Belle?" Nate winked at her in the rear view mirror.

"We're riding a chariot through the factory!" she exclaimed.

"What chariot?" Julie asked. "What factory?"

"I'm going to take Gracie to Chocolate World before the game starts," Nate said. "you two want to come?"

The last thing Matt needed was to watch Nate flashing money around in front of his little sister-in-law. "I think I'll pass on that one," he said.

"I'll go with you," Julie said. "Gracie and I haven't done anything fun together in ages, have we, baby sister?"

"I'm not a baby."

"It's okay for Nate to call you a _chick_ ," Matt said, "which is a _baby_ chicken, but your big sister can't call you her baby sister?"

"Well…Nate _is_ taking me to Chocolate World."

"You're still using a booster seat," Matt insisted. "I think Julie can call you her baby sister."

"Mom says I can stop using it on my birthday," Gracie replied. "I'm counting down the days."

[*]

"Can we do the tour one more time!" Gracie pleaded.

Julie rolled her eyes. If she had to endure those singing cows _yet again_ …and that fake chocolate smell was making her sick. "No!" she exclaimed just as Nate said, "Sure!"

Julie caught Nate's eye and shook her head ever so slightly.

Nate glanced at his watch. "I mean, sorry, Gracie Belle, but no. We have to get over to the stadium for the game. Your mom and brother-in-law will be waiting for us."

"But I _need_ another Hershey Kiss," Gracie insisted.

Nate tilted his head. "I thought we talked about the difference between need and wants."

"That's not a part of economics Gracie understands," Julie said, clapped him on the shoulder, and turned him in the direction of the exit.

[*]

Matt watched Nate lean over to Julie in the stands. "So why does the other team have the ball now?" he asked.

Matt shot Julie a thinly suppressed smile. Nate might be a finance big shot, but he didn't know the first thing about football. He had been asking way too many questions about way too many obvious things.

As Julie explained what was happening, Mrs. Taylor clapped together her leather-gloved hands. "Pay attention y'all. This is it."

"The Pioneers have to run down the clock at this point," Matt told Nate. "If they can just keep the Bandits from scoring, they'll win this."

"Well, yeah, obviously," Nate said. "I'm not stupid."

"No one suggested you were stupid," Julie told him.

"I need to see," Gracie said. "Everyone's too tall."

Matt was about to crouch down so she could climb on his shoulders when Gracie walked past him and Julie to stand before Nate. She stretched out her arms. Nate scooped her up onto his shoulders and she rested her hands on his head.

The Bandits inched their way toward the end zone.

"Now, if the Pioneers' defense can just stay strong," the announcer intoned, "this will be the first time this particular team has _ever_ won a State Championship."

"It's remarkable they even made it this far," another announcer said, "considering where they were when Coach Taylor took over the team."

"He's really good, isn't he?" Nate asked Julie. "At his job?"

Julie smiled. "Yeah. Yeah. He is."

Even so, the Pioneers lost. In the last few seconds of the game, the Bandits scored a game-winning touchdown. Matt was surprised at how disappointed Nate looked, for someone who obviously didn't care about football.

As the crowd thinned out, they made driving plans. Matt would be heading back to Philadelphia with Gracie and Mrs. Taylor, while Julie wanted to ride with Nate.

"I need to catch up with my brother," she told Matt as they neared the parking lot."

This was the first time he'd ever heard her say it like that, _my brother_. "He's your _half-_ brother," Matt said. "That you've known for a few months."

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. "You've been in a pissy mood half the day. Are you _jealous_ of Nate?"

"No! Why would I be jealous of Nate? He's gay and I don't think you're into incest."

" _Half-_ incest," Julie said with that sarcastic look in her eyes that always managed to annoy him just a little, unless, of course, it was aimed at someone else. "And I didn't mean _that_ kind of jealous."

"Did you see all the presents in his trunk? I could barely fit our bags in there. It's just kind of annoying. The way he's always flashing money around."

"The car is flashy," Julie admitted. "But Nate's pretty down to earth. He's just generous."

"It's all a drop in the bucket for him anyway. What do you think he got your mom? Case-of-the-month five-star wine club?"

"Don't worry," Julie said, patting his cheek. "My parents will love your present. It comes from the heart." She kissed him and then caught up to Nate.

[*]

Julie fiddled with the satellite radio in Nate's car until she found a song she liked.

"You really do love that angsty white chick music," he said.

"I can't believe you just described Adele as an angsty white chick."

"How would you describe her?" Nate asked.

"As _awesome_ ," Julie insisted. "Why? Who do you like better?" she teased. "Bette Midler?"

"I take it our dad told you I'm gay?"

"No. Landry told me. And I apologize for the lame joke. I don't care, you know. That you're gay."

"How does Landry know?"

"I guess you're obvious, though _I_ didn't know, to be honest. Matt guessed. Landry guessed. And he also overheard you talking to your boyfriend, a certain, special college basketball player in L.A.," Julie teased.

"So you know about Hasitngs Ruckle?" Nate asked.

"What?" Julie turned down the radio.

"Oh. Shit. I thought you meant you knew…that Landry….Shit. I didn't mean to out him."

Julie shrugged. "I'm not surprised Hastings is gay. I'm just surprised your boyfriend is one of my – our - dad's former players."

"Well…I'm not sure he's my boyfriend anymore. My weekend in L.A. didn't go that well."

"Yeah?" Julie asked. "What happened?"

"He wanted to go party at some gay club, and I…that scene…" Nate shook his head. "That's just not my scene at all. And it was like I was an extra. He was flirting with _everyone_ …and I just…" Nate sighed. "We ended up fighting, and I left without him."

"You can do way better than Hastings, Nate."

"Do you know him well?"

"I barely know him at all. But he's too young for you anyway. You're so successful and mature for your age. What do you want with a college boy?"

Nate laughed. "You're all right, you know."

"People tolerate me anyway," Julie told him. "Matt thought you were with your assistant."

"Why does everyone seem to think I have a thing for Joshua? Matt. Your mom."

"My mom thought you did?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess Joshua and I joke around with each other a lot," Nate said. "And we're good friends, even though I'm his boss. And maybe I look at him too much, just because he's classically good-looking."

"He is?" Julie asked. "Does he have any other virtues?"

"He's smart. Witty. Perceptive. He's the one who got me to admit I was...you know."

"Well, it kind of sounds like you _should_ have a thing with him."

"Nah," Nate said. "He's engaged. Getting married soon."

"You like the guy he's marrying?"

"Never met him. He lives in England. Long-distance thing. Joshua's from Oxford, originally."

"So he has a sexy British accent, too?" Julie asked.

Nate laughed. "Yeah. He does. His fiance is a lucky guy, I'll say that. I envy them both their happiness. I envy you and Matt. I envy your parents." He sighed. "As much as I tried to keep it casual with Hastings, I thought...deep down I thought maybe something..." He shook his head. "And it's not just him. All those guys I met at that club, they just wanted...I don't know. I guess it's usually women who put the brakes on things."

"And you're not a casual kind of guy," Julie guessed.

"No. I'm not. And I'm wondering where that leaves me. Gay men are already a minority. Gay men my age who want something serious? That's an endangered species." He shook his head. "I never told you, but I used to be married. To a woman."

Julie's eyes widened.

"I'm separated, and we're getting a divorce. We didn't fit, for obvious reasons, and she cheated on me. Twice. I don't blame her for needing more, but I blame her for making me believe she loved me. I blame her for the lies and for the gold-digging. I didn't fit with my wife. But I didn't fit at that club either. I don't know if I fit in that world. I don't know if I fit in any world."

"I'm sure that's not the only world gay people inhabit, Nate. You'll find someone."

"I think I'm just going to die a rich, lonely old man," he said. "Then again, fortunes come and go in this business. Who knows. I may die a _poor_ , lonely old man."

"No matter what, you won't die lonely, Nate. You have family."

"My mom's dead. She didn't know I was gay. At least, I don't think she knew. One of my uncles – he's the father of my cousin - is very conservative, and I bet he wouldn't want anything to do with me if I told him. The other…well…the other might actually _be_ gay. He's never married, and he's never brought a woman to anything. But if he is, he's deep in the closet. And then again, he might just be socially awkward. I like him well enough, but we don't…connect really."

"That's not the family I was talking about," Julie said softly.

Nate pulled onto an entrance ramp to the highway. He didn't say anything, but he was smiling.


	39. Losing to Win

**A/N:** I've been slowing down on my writing because it's my busy season, both in work and life, but I don't want to fall too far off my regular updates, so here's a short scene. Comments appreciated!

[*]

Coach Washington drove Eric home from Pemberton after the team bus unloaded in the school parking lot. The drive had been quiet, each lost in his own thoughts, but eventually Clarence spoke. "Say, what are you grinning about? We just _lost_ State."

Eric hadn't even realized he was smiling. He considered whether or not to tell Clarence his news. He should probably tell Tami first, tonight, privately, in bed...but it was hard not to say anything about it to his fellow coach, especially considering how much Clarence had ribbed him for his aspirations over the past three years. "Have you ever thought about being a head coach?"

"You _know_ I've thought about it," Coach Washington replied. "I'm not angling for your job, though. I'm just hoping to get hired by Benjamin High when Coach Kinney retires."

"Did you notice that guy who stopped me before we loaded the bus in Hershey?"

"Yeah, I noticed. We had to wait ten minutes for you."

"Well," Eric continued, "he also stopped me after the playoffs in Applebee's. He – "

"- You went to Applebee's to celebrate that victory? _Applebee's?_ "

"I was hungry and it was the first place we found!"

"Tami deserves way better than Applebee's, Eric. A woman like that - "

"- I take care of my woman, Clarence. Trust me. She is fully satisfied."

Clarence chuckled. "Okay then. So tell me about the guy."

"He's the Athletic Director at Temple."

"Temple University?"

"No. The Mormon Temple. _Yes_ , Temple University." Eric took of his Pemberton cap and ran a hand through his hair, before setting it back on his head. "The QB coach of the Owls got an offer to be the offensive coordinator for A&M. So he's moving, and they're going to need a new QB coach next season. And apparently I'm number one on their list. I guess they've been watching me all season."

"We _lost_ State, and you got a job offer?"

Eric grinned. "He said he and the head coach are both impressed with my track record of improving teams. He read up on the Lions too."

"That's a big step up. I mean, it's not U-Penn, but..." Clarence shot him a teasing grin. "Probably only pays a quarter of what U-Penn would pay."

"Yeah, well, I'll still be making twice what I'm making now."

"Well, congratulations, Coach. You'll finally be making more than your wife."

Eric ignored the playful jab. "All football all the time. No more having to teach."

"You're going to miss teaching more than you think. Part of you loves it."

"Well that part of me will have to settle for all football all the time and for trying to earn a big fat bonus."

Clarence chuckled. "Well, congratulations, Coach. You deserve it." He peered at Eric, an eyebrow raised beneath his own cap. "So you're saying that your job at Pemberton is opening up?"

"I'll have to review the contract, and Tami will have to approve - "

"- Why the hell wouldn't she?"

"I'm sure she will, but you know - "

"- Got to run it by the boss," Clarence said.

Eric nodded. "If I do leave - "

"- _When_ you do leave," Clarence clarified for him.

"I'll put in a good word for you with the boosters and the administration."

Coach Washington swung his SUV into Eric's driveway. "I sure will miss you though."

"We'll keep meeting for Wednesday drinks," Eric said as he opened the door, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the dark night. It was by now a quarter to ten. "After all, I'm still going to need your advice. And God knows you're going to need mine." He closed the door on Coach Washington's laugh.

Through the bay window of the living room, Eric could see the softly twinkling white lights of the tree. He clamored up the steps of the front porch, feeling like a kid at Christmas.

Gracie was probably already in bed, but the rest of the crew was playing cards and drinking hot, mulled wine. Christmas music was playing softly, and the fire was ablaze. Laughter greeted his ears the moment he stepped in the living room. He felt a sudden warmth flood his heart, and a pride, too. This was his family, and he was blessed.


	40. Family Fun

"Sorry, dad," Julie said when her father sat down on the couch next to her mother, who kissed him sympathetically. "It was a great game. You came really close."

"It's a'ight."

Julie was surprised by how unconcerned by the loss her father seemed. He actually _shrugged_.

Then he looked at Nate. "You like the game?"

" _I_ liked the game," Matt said, and Julie wondered if he felt a little jilted because her father's first question about football, of all things, had gone to Nate.

"I had a good time," Nate answered. "Julie had to explain a lot to me, though."

"You'll get the hang of it," Eric assured him and pointed to the black and white cards, which had words written on them. "What are we playing?"

Matt shifted uneasily where he sat on the floor, his back to the warm fireplace. Julie caught her mother's eyes across the coffee table. "I don't think you'd like this game," Tami said.

"What do you mean?" Eric asked. "I love card games."

"It's a little vulgar, hon."

"Well _you're_ playing it."

"Yeah, sugar, but I'm not as…you're kind of…"

"I'm kind of what?" Eric asked.

"Let's just pack it up." Matt started gathering the cards from the coffee table.

"No, no, no," Eric insisted. "I can play! I'm not the prude y'all think I am."

"All right then," Nate said, "I'll deal you in." He counted out several white cards and placed them in front of Julie's dad.

"No," Matt said. "There is _no way_ I'm playing Cards Against Humanity with my father-in-law."

Julie's father kept insisting, however, and swept up his white cards. "These are mine?" he asked. "What do I do with them?"

"I can't believe you're going to do this," Julie muttered.

"Hey, I'm an enlightened, modern man," he replied with a self-deprecating smile.

"There's nothing enlightened about this game," Tami told him. "You put down the white card you think is the funniest match for the black card, and then the judge picks a winner. If it's your card…you get the black card."

"The one with the most black cards wins?" Eric asked.

"Yes," Tami said. "Though I warn you - "

"- I got it, babe. I got it."

Julie looked at Matt, who appeared alarmed. "Just be glad this didn't happen while we were still dating," she reassured him.

"I'm still keeping my eye on him, you know," Julie's dad told her. "Just because he married you doesn't mean he has to stop being afraid of me."

"I was _never_ afraid of you," Matt insisted.

Nate looked at Matt sympathetically. "I wouldn't want to have to meet him on a first date."

"This kid comes to pick up my daughter," Eric told Nate, "and I ask him if he wants a beer, and he says, No thank you, I'm driving."

Nate chuckled.

"I didn't know you weren't serious," Matt muttered. "You sure were serious about that blanket."

Julie told Nate the story, imitating her father's deep voice when she said, _They had a a blanket._ Nate threw his head back and laughed, reminding Julie very much of her father, with that flash of white teeth and a face transformed from its usual serious cast.

Tami ruffled Eric's hair. "You _were_ kind of silly about that," she said.

"Hey," Eric replied, " _you_ were the one who freaked out when Jules went to that out-of-town concert with Matt. Waking me up in the middle of the night. I had to talk you out of driving down there."

That story, too, was told.

"Sounds like you were a bit of a handful, Julie." Nate arranged his cards in his hand and laid one down on the table to go with the black card. "You seem so stable now."

"She's all grown up." Eric smiled at Julie. "Marriage does that to you, I guess."

Matt frowned. "Then maybe you shouldn't have told her she could marry me when the sun burned out."

Nate looked at Eric wide-eyed. "You _said_ that?"

"It was bad timing, is all." Julie's father moved his white cards around in his hand and read each one. "What the hell is tentacle porn?"

Matt threw his cards down on the coffee table. "I'm off to bed."

[*]

Eric washed the game dirt off in a quick shower, but Tami was more leisurely with her own. In the steamy master bathroom she pulled on some clean, silky red panties and then threw on a Cowboys jersey that fell just to her thighs. Eric had a thing for women in jerseys, she knew. It turned him on as much as any piece of slutty lingerie.

Tami came out of the master bathroom smelling like mango from the shampoo that was Eric's favorite. He liked it better than expensive perfume. When she crawled into bed with him, he inhaled and smiled, his lips coming down on her towel-dried hair. The muscles of his bare chest felt surprisingly non-tense beneath her arms as she hugged him and reassured him, "You really did do well, hon. I'm sorry you didn't win."

"It's a'ight," he said casually.

He'd been in a great mood when he came through the door. She'd been expecting a bit of sullenness, given the defeat, and she thought maybe he was putting on a brave face for Nate, but here he was, in private with her, and still not showing his frustration.

She pulled back and searched his eyes, her own brimming with sympathy. "Is it really? You're okay with it?"

"How could I win when y'all wouldn't even let me play? Matt just up and quits before we start, and then the rest of you throw in the towel after only ten minutes."

"I was talking about _State_ , sugar." She lay on her side, propped up on an elbow, and looked down at him where he lay. "Although you did do surprising well at Cards Against Humanity. I love that you're willing to learn new things." She kissed him. "Like when you studied that sex guide," she teased.

She expected her ribbing to make him blush a little, or at least change the subject, but instead he just asked, "Which one?"

"Why? How many sex guides _have_ you read?"

"I don't know. Half a dozen. I like to learn new ways to please you."

She stroked his cheek gently. He sure didn't want to talk about tonight's game. He must have pushed his disappointment way down. "I want to make love to you, sweetheart," she told him softly.

"You're offering me pity sex. Because I lost State."

"I'm offering you sex because I _love_ you. And I _enjoy_ having sex with you."

He shook his head. "No. No pity sex. We're having _victory_ sex tonight."

The authoritative tone in his voice sent a little tingle through her flesh. "What?"

"You heard me, babe. We're going to have a good, hard victory screw."

The intense way he was looking into her eyes made her breath catch just a little. "Even though you didn't win?"

He told her about the verbal offer from Temple University.

"No!" she sat up straight in bed, her jersey inching up with her rapid movement. His eyes fell to her thighs. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious."

"Temple?" Tami exclaimed, pushing him against his chest in a physical outpouring of her delighted disbelief. "QB coach? You can coach college ball _and_ I can keep my job _and_ we can still live together in Philadelphia?"

"If you like the contract, yeah," he said. "Temple will send it over after the new year."

"That's...hon, I'm so proud of you!"

Eric sat up and placed a hand on her cheek. The dark hunger in his eyes thrilled her. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, and she responded to his passion. She was soon murmuring for more against his lips, and that was when he pushed her down onto the bed. Eric slid his fingertips from her cheek and trailed them possessively down her bare neck to the valley between her breasts. Through her nightshirt, he kneaded first one breast and then the other.

A surge of need swelled through her body. Tami shifted, and, through his boxers, she could feel his erection growing against her thigh. He slid his hand down to the tail of her night shirt, which he seized and balled in his fist while he held her eyes with his own.

Instinctively, she licked her lips.

His eyes feasted on her mouth.

She swallowed. "I'm about to be fucked by the future QB coach of Temple University, aren't I?"

"Damn right you are."

[*]

Julie and Matt stumbled out of the guest bedroom, which was far to close to the master bedroom. When they reached the living room, Nate was sitting up on the couch, his blanket a pool on the floor, looking groggy. "What was that?" he asked. "I thought I heard someone shouting."

The three of them ended up outside the house, away from the sounds emanating from the Taylors' bedroom. They sat around the fire pit, drinking spiced egg nog. Julie was getting a little giggly.

"Maybe they're watching tentacle porn," she said, and laughed her way into a lean, her head landing on Matt's shoulder.

"Are they always that loud?" Nate asked.

"No," Julie insisted. "But let's just say there were _some_ nights when I wished I owned noise-cancelling headphones." She looked at Matt and laughed. "You are _so_ red."

"I assumed your parents almost never had sex," he said. "I figured that's why it took so long to get Gracie."

Julie laughed, stood from her chair, and steadied herself against Matt's shoulder. "I'm a little drunk. And tired. I need to lie down. You coming?"

Matt shook his head. "What if they're not done?"

"They have to be done by now," Julie insisted.

"I'm not taking that chance."

"Fine, you boys can stay out here and discuss economics." Julie made her way unsteadily to the porch stairs and up. Matt watched her until she was safely inside, and then regretted not accompanying her, because that meant he was now alone with Nate. He wasn't sure which was worse - listening to the Taylors have sex, or having to make polite conversation alone with the golden boy, the newest apple of Coach Taylor's eye.


	41. Reaching Out

When the screen door of the porch swung shut and the inner door followed with a click, Nate said, "I hope Gracie likes the gift I got her for Christmas."

Matt hoped his in-laws appreciated the painting he'd made for them, a portrait modeled on a family photograph they'd sent Julie. In Chicago, Nate had seen Matt's portrait of his grandmother and had told Matt he should paint portraits more regularly if he "wanted steady income from his art." The suggestion had irritated Matt, who took it as something as an insult to his other work. Matt didn't want to be pigeonholed as a portrait maker. He wanted to be taken seriously as an _artist_. His mother-in-law was Dean of Admissions of an almost ivy; his father-in-law was the head coach of a football team; Landry, once he finished his year with the band and went back to school, was no doubt going to be a high-powered lawyer; and Nate, well, Nate was the big man on campus, rolling in a bed of cash. And here Matt was, even with his promotion to manager of the gallery, making only $14.50 an hour, struggling to pay down his art school loans, swimming in the depths of Chicago rent, and selling his art once in a blue moon.

"Why? What did you get her?" asked Matt, a little more bitterly than he had intended to. "The Taj Mahal?"

Nate apparently thought he was serious. "Do they make models of that? Like a doll house or something?"

Matt shook his head and sipped his egg nog.

"I got her an American Girl Doll." Nate set his empty cup on the ground. "Joshua did the research for me. Apparently they're really popular with girls."

Matt snorted. "Gracie _hates_ dolls. And you got her the most expensive one you could find?"

"She does?" Nate asked, almost nervously. "I thought all girls loved dolls."

"No. Gracie _hates_ them."

"Oh. Well…I guess I'll just give it to Toys for Tots then."

Matt glanced at him. Nate looked truly bothered by his failure to choose the correct gift.

"I guess I could…uh…" Nate seemed to be thinking. "I guess I could make up a card tonight promising her something good. That's what I did for Eric." It sounded weird to Matt, hearing someone Nate's age call Coach Taylor _Eric_. Coach Taylor had never suggested Matt should call him _Eric_. "I just got him a card promising I'd take him to the Super Bowl, when the time comes."

"Do you even have any idea who might be playing in the Super Bowl?"

"No, but…you know, I'm sure he'd love it. And I can get tickets."

"And what did you get Mrs. Taylor?" Matt asked sarcastically. "A Mazeradi?"

"Wine of the month club."

Matt wondered what Nate had gotten _Julie._ Whatever it was, it would make the necklace Matt bought her look pathetic. "Can I ask you something, Nate? Why do you always have to flash your money around?"

"What?"

The fire cracked and snapped. One flame shot up higher than the others. "You know."

"Is that what…I…Is that what I seem like?"

Matt didn't answer. Instead he drained the last of his egg nog and set the cup on the ground beside Nate's.

Nate sighed. "I just like to get people things I think they'll like."

He said it so sadly that Matt felt an unexpected pang of sympathy twist his heart. When he looked at Nate sitting there in the flickering light of the fire, he saw not a rich, successful alpha male, but a lonely young man. "Do you think that will make people like you?"

Nate shrugged. "I don't know. No one seemed to like me _before_ I got rich. I mean, except my mother." He smiled sadly and turned his head slightly toward Matt. "You know that blues song? _Nobody loves me but my mother, and she could be jivin' too?_ "

"My mother abandoned me."

"Jesus," Nate muttered. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"She came back eventually." Matt shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "My dad was gone a lot of my life." So was Nate's, he realized suddenly. "Except he _knew_ about me. He knew exactly where I was the whole time. He just didn't much care. He was in the military, so that was his excuse. But sometimes I think he signed up just to run away from me." He wasn't sure why he was telling Nate all this. Matt didn't share himself easily. Within him swirled a contradictory sea of jealous anger, sympathy, and a need to reach out.

"Who raised you?" Nate asked. "Your grandmother?"

Matt nodded. "When I wasn't raising her. She started to get dementia when I was in high school."

"Damn." Nate shook his head ever so slightly. "I used to think it was hard not having a dad. Not having a lot of friends. Not having a girlfriend. Not fitting in with any group. Being on the outside. I guess I thought…football player and all…dating Julie…you must have been popular. Surrounded by people who loved you."

"I wasn't _unpopular_ , but I didn't feel like I fit in half the time either. Try being a football player who loves art." Matt shrugged. "I guess nobody that age feels like they fit in. I guess that's just part of being a teenager."

"Maybe," Nate said. "Except I think I really _didn't_. Try being a pudgy, closeted gay guy who loves numbers."

"You were pudgy?"

"Yeah. But I got in shape before I made my first big return. Not that it made much difference. My world didn't change until the money started rolling in."

"Listen, the Taylors don't like you for your money, Nate. That's not why Julie likes you. I know that for a fact."

"I like them," Nate said, picking at the chipped wood of the arm of the deck chair. "I didn't really expect to like them so much. I just thought I'd meet my father once, maybe twice, get some background information. I never imagined I'd meet his wife or youngest daughter, or that Julie and I would sort of become friends. I didn't expect them to invite me to family things. I didn't expect to _want_ to be a part of their lives. But I do."

"Well, they want that, too," Matt said. It was obvious to him, anyway. The Taylors, it seemed, had accepted Nate almost overnight.

"Yeah. I actually think they do. Even though Eric and I have almost nothing in common. I mean, you two are a _lot_ alike, but me and him – "

"- Coach Taylor and I are _nothing_ alike," Matt insisted.

A grunt-like laugh escaped Nate. "Sure you are. You're both reserved. Quiet. Good husbands. Family men. You both like football. You're both hardworking….you two strike me as being a lot alike." Matt considered this, but before he could wrap his mind around the comparison, Nate continued: "Do I really come off that way? Flashy? I mean, I have a one-bedroom condo. When I'm not meeting clients, I wear normal clothes. I save a lot, and I give a lot to charity. Anonymously. I didn't think I _flashed_ money around."

"The car's pretty flashy," Matt told him.

"I have to impress potential clients somehow," Nate said. "When they see me drive up in that, they think – here's a guy who can make me a ton of money."

"That's really the only reason you drive it?" Matt asked skeptically.

Nate smiled abashedly. "Okay, I love the way it feels. And sometimes I just want that one jock who mocked me the most in high school to see me in it. That jerk washed out at college wrestling, dropped out of school, and now he's working at a Taco Bell."

Matt laughed. "Do you drive that Ferrari through the Taco Bell drive thru?"

"I have, two or three times. I mean, the one he works at is in Maryland, and I'm in D.C. It's not like I do it every week. Just… _sometimes_."

Matt nodded. "There's some people I'd liked to drive a Ferrari by. People who made fun of me for wanting to go to art school, who said my art would never amount to anything. Of course…" He shrugged. "It hasn't."

"You're really good though."

"You think so?" Matt asked.

"Sure."

"Then why haven't you bought any of my art?"

"I thought you didn't want me flashing money around?"

"Well…." Matt smiled.

"Honestly, what you had available for sale isn't what I'm interested in. Not that it wasn't good, but it wasn't something…you know…for _me_. But I've seen that painting you did that's hanging in Eric's office - that landscape with the football field and the sun? There was something really moving about that. And that portrait you did of your grandmother was spectacular. The West Texas landscapes in the dinning room" he jerked a thumb himself toward the house, "are great too. You should paint more things like that. Stuff for regular people."

"Landscapes and portraits…no one takes that seriously anymore. I can't be taken seriously doing that."

"Then _make_ them take it seriously," Nate said. "Why not? Andy Warhol made people take Cambell's soup seriously. It's not _what_ you paint. It's _how_ you paint it. Right?"

Matt shook his head. "You don't understand how the art world operates. Landscapes and portraits are so…outdated."

"You haven't notice how popular retro things are these days?"

"Popular, maybe…but what's popular isn't what's taken seriously."

"Who do you want to take you seriously?" Nate asked. "The public, or a handful or art snobs? People who are going to buy your stuff because it honestly moves them, or people who are going to look at it on the wall of a gallery, and only buy it when someone else _tells_ them they should, to impress other art snobs?"

Matt gritted his teeth. He looked away from Nate and out at the swing set. "Not everyone in the art world is a _snob_."

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry. Just like not everyone with money is a snob. But let me ask you this. Do you like painting landscapes and portraits? Aside from what anyone thinks of it, do _you_ like _doing_ it?"

"Sure. I _like_ it," Matt answered. "But it's just… _anyone_ can do that."

"No. Not anyone can do it the _way_ you do it."

Matt looked back at him.

"Take that painting of your grandmother," Nate continued. "That's not just a picture of someone. I mean, I don't know your grandmother, but I looked at that, and it was like all these emotions rolling off the canvass. It made me feel this sense of…I don't know how to describe it. Quiet loss over lost youth, but also this feeling of real human dignity…feelings of family love, of sadness and hope…beauty and sorrow…all this stuff at once. You captured all that. In a painting of an ordinary person."

Matt felt a bit of pride worming its way slowly up to his heart. "I don't know," he said. "They'd all be hanging on people's walls. No one would ever see them but the people I painted."

"Well, after you die, maybe someone will realize how unique your portraits were, and some of them will end up in a museum. In the meantime, you'll make a decent living, have a great life with a beautiful wife who loves you, and spend your afternoons teaching your brood of six kids to paint."

Matt chuckled. "We agreed we're only having two kids. How about you? You want kids someday?"

"I don't see that happening."

"You could always adopt."

"I don't want to be a single father."

"Who's to say you're going to be single?" Matt asked.

"Just seems to be my lot in life. I'm officially divorced now. And the other weekend, I got in a huge fight with my first boyfriend ever."

"Julie told me about all that." Matt wondered if Nate was somewhat bisexual or if he was completely gay but had married a woman anyway. He wondered how often Nate and his wife had had sex, and, if they did, if it was any good. He couldn't imagine having sex with a guy, so he couldn't imagine how Nate, if he was gay, could manage to have sex with a girl. He wondered if he'd had sex with Hastings, and if it was much better than sex with his wife. He certainly didn't want to ask any of those questions, though. He had nothing against gay guys, but the idea of a dude with another dude made him squeamish. He wasn't going to _show_ that it did, but it _did_.

"I think that's probably over," Nate continued. "I obviously can't maintain a relationship with anyone of _either_ sex."

"Dude, you're barely twenty-four. Give it some time."

"You're twenty-three."

"I was lucky that the first girl I happened to fall in love with was the one. And even though she _was_ the one, I still couldn't keep it together. We broke up _twice_ before we got married."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't even know what the first time was about," Matt muttered. "She had to find herself or something. She had to figure out the grass _wasn't_ greener on the other side."

"Sounds like Julie was a bit of a mess in high school."

"Not a mess, but….I don't know. We had to grow up. We both did. The second time _I_ was the one who ended it. I guess I had to find myself or something, too. I just left her and drove off to art school. I didn't even…" Matt shook his head. "We were stupid kids. We hurt each other."

"Did you uh…if I'm asking something too personal, just shut me up. But did you have a lot of girlfriends in between?"

Matt smiled. He'd considered himself inexperienced compared to the other football players, especially Tim Riggins. But here was Nate, who had never dated in high school, who had married the first girl who went out with him, and who had been with only one other person since. Nate probably wanted to know how much of a freak he was. "No," Matt reassured him. "Not a lot. I only dated two other girls in high school. Well, one was a woman."

Nate raised his eyebrow.

"She was in her early 20s! It wasn't a Mrs. Robinson thing."

"What about when you drove off to art school? Before you and Julie got back together?"

Matt shook his head. "I was trying to figure out my life. My future. I didn't want to complicate all that. And I still loved Julie, even though I left her. A lot of experienced women came onto me, women form the gallery, but…"

"I get that a lot, too," Nate said. " _Now_ anyway. Well, women of all ages."

"And people of all genders, I guess," Matt said.

"I was at this club with Hastings…that was my – "

"- I know. Julie told me."

"I can't tell you just how many guys offered me sex. Just up and offered it. After saying no more than hello."

"You know how many guys wish girls would do that?" Matt asked. Then he thought of how Julie, at fifteen, had come to him with a straightforward, _I think we should have sex_. It had excited and disturbed him at the same time. It was as if she wasn't suggesting anything meaningful, anything special, anything she had hungered for, the way he was hungering for it. She seemed to want to get it out of the way, to get it over with. He didn't want sex with Julie to be something that had to be gotten _over with_. Sure, he'd been fantasizing about it, _in detail_ , ever since he had first laid eyes on her. He'd been hoping, and praying, and waiting, but he didn't want it to be offered up like that, like some item she had to cross off of her checklist. "I guess it's probably better when you both love each other, and it's...the right time."

"That's why Eric likes you," Nate told him. "Why he thinks you're so good for his daughter."

"Does he?" Matt asked.

"Seems like he does to me." Nate rubbed his hands together over the dying fire. "We should probably get in."

"Yeah. Gracie's going to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow." They planned to celebrate Christmas early, since everyone was together. "I bet she's thrilled she gets two Christmases this year."

Both young men stood. Nate extended his hand to Matt. "Merry Christmas."

Matt shook it. "Merry Christmas. And, just so you know, I kind of like you _even though_ you're rich."


	42. Gifting

Matt settled onto the floor, cross-legged, because the rest of the living room furniture was occupied, except for the recliner. He didn't dare mount his father-in-law's throne, however, even though Coach Taylor was presently sitting on the couch with Mrs. Taylor's head leaned sleepily on his shoulder. Julie, who sat next to her mother, was blinking sleep dust out of her eyes and warming her hands on a mug of coffee. Meanwhile, Gracie happily searched for gifts under the tree and handed them out.

Julie's little sister had apparently awoken Nate at 6 AM, when she had emerged from her room and found him sleeping on the couch. (He was now sitting in the armchair.) Nate had graciously kept her at bay for an hour, until he could restrain her no longer, and she had burst into her parents' room, shouting, "It's early Christmas! It's early Christmas! Time to open presents!" Matt, who heard the shouting in the guest bedroom, had been stirred awake.

"Why are _y'all_ so tired?" Mrs. Taylor asked as she took her head off of Coach's shoulder and sat up straighter. "Y'all went to bed _before_ us."

Matt was _not_ going to answer that question. He could feel his cheeks warming, and he glanced helplessly at Nate, who suppressed an embarrassed smile.

"We…uh….we ended up not sleeping so much," Nate said. "We went outside and lit the fire pit and talked."

"Sounds like everyone had a good time last night," Coach Taylor said with a smile, and Mrs. Coach kissed his nose.

Matt looked down at the gift Gracie had just laid in his lap and intently studied the wrapping paper so he wouldn't have to look at his in-laws' mild display of affection. He didn't want to think about their more _wild_ display the previous night.

"Open it," Gracie told him. "It's from Nate."

With a slight sense of dread, Matt turned the gift over in his hands and searched for the seam in the wrapping paper. He'd gotten Nate only a money clip, engraved with an artistic design that had struck him. What did you get a guy who could buy himself anything he wanted? He was afraid Nate had gotten him something embarrassingly expensive by comparison.

Gracie dug under the tree. "Where's your gift to me, Nate?"

"I just got you that card." Nate gestured to a blue envelope on the tree skirt, and Matt felt sorry for shooting down his gift the previous night. Was the guy really just going to give a hundred dollar doll to Toys for Tots? Some poor little girl was going to be ecstatic this Christmas.

Gracie's face fell. Before she could say anything, however, Mrs. Taylor shot her a scolding look, and Gracie put on a big smile. "Thanks, Nate!" the little girl exclaimed. "I love cards!" She grabbed the card and opened it with less enthusiasm than she had just feigned.

Meanwhile, Matt unwrapped his present, which turned out to be a sketch pad and a set of art pens. "Thanks, man," he said, relieved that the gift was something so simple, rather than something he could never repay.

"I didn't know what to get you," Nate admitted.

"Feeling's mutual," Matt said, nodding to his gift, which Gracie had put on Nate's lap before looking for her present.

Nate unwrapped it in a single long peel. He examined it for a minute, as though trying to figure out what it was. "Oh," he said. "For cash."

"Yeah," Matt told him. "It's a money clip." He frowned. "I guess you don't use those." Nate had platinum credit cards after all. He probably didn't even carry cash. What had he been thinking?

"No, I mean yeah, I could really use this," Nate said. "This will go great in one of my suit pockets. I need to carry cash for tips when I'm traveling. Awesome design, too. Artistic. Guess you have an eye for that."

"Glad you like it," Matt said, not sure how much Nate was faking his appreciation. Even if he was faking, Matt valued his effort. Nate was a pretty nice guy, after all, when he thought about it. He wondered how a nice guy like that stayed clean in the cut-throat world of fiance. He supposed the same way Coach Taylor had managed to stay more or less clean in the dirty pond of Texas football politics.

"Yes!" Gracie exclaimed as she finished reading her card from Nate. "Yes! Yes! Can I Mom? Can I Daddy?"

"Can you what?" Mrs. Taylor asked.

"Nate says he'll take me to Dutch Wonderland the weekend after Christmas! So we can see the Christmas stuff! And ride the rides! He says you can come too!" Coach and Mrs. Coach glanced wearily at one another, as though an amusement park was the last place on earth they wanted to go. Gracie prattled on: "We can ride the train, and the skylift, and the family coaster, and…." She put a finger to her chin and looked up, contemplating the possibilities.

"Oh…." Mrs. Taylor said, "That sounds…."

"- Or," Coach Taylor interjected, "maybe Nate could just take _you,_ Gracie. Save himself some money on tickets, and your mom and I could spend the day touring Lancaster Country. Maybe visit a winery."

He winked at his wife, who smiled and said, " _If_ Nate doesn't mind."

"I don't mind, Mrs. Taylor," Nate replied, and Matt wondered why he didn't call her Tami if he called Coach Taylor Eric. "I'm sure it'll be nice for you two to have a day to yourselves together."

Matt felt a resurgence of the jealousy he'd been struggling to repress. Nate sure was racking up points with the in-laws, wasn't he? "How awful is Pennsylvania wine?" Matt asked.

"No worse than Texas wine," Mrs. Taylor said.

Julie glanced at Matt. She looked a little irritated with his comment, but she backed him up. "That's not saying much, Mom."

"Well, a friend told me of two good places anyway," Mrs. Taylor said. "They'd be fun to try." She yawned and reached for her coffee cup, which Nate had put on the table for her.

The rest of the gifts were exchanged. Coach Taylor laughed like a giddy school boy when he learned Nate was going to take him to the Super Bowl in January. "Can I, Tami?" he asked, in imitation of Gracie. "Can I? Can I?" Mrs. Coach laughed and ruffled his hair.

When it came time for the Taylors to unwrap his portrait, Matt shifted uncomfortably on the floor before the tree. He watched as the paper come off strip by strip.

"Hey, that's nice," Coach Taylor said, but there was no giddiness in his voice, and Matt frowned a little.

"This is really lovely, Matt," Mrs. Taylor told him, always the more politic half. "You captured the family so well. I know just the perfect sport for this. This is going in the living room when we take the tree down, right, sugar?"

"Yeah," said Coach Taylor, glancing at the tree. "that'd be a good spot for it."

Julie smiled at Matt, and mouthed, "They love it." He shrugged. They didn't hate it, at least. Coach Taylor _was_ tilting his head to examine the painting better, and he _was_ smiling. And Mrs. Taylor _was_ pointing at Matt's representation of Gracie, and they _were_ nodding to each other, as though it were just right.

Julie opened Matt's present next. She seemed to be making a point to gush over the necklace. "Perfect," she claimed, "beautiful, so thoughtful, exactly what I wanted..." Then she tried hard to appear nonchalant about the Adele concert tickets Nate slipped her in her Christmas card. She couldn't entirely pretend not to be surprised and thrilled, though. "I thought this sold out in the first twenty minutes!" she exclaimed.

"Joshua's really good at securing things," Nate said. "I tell him what I want, how much I can pay, and he knows how to go about these things. He's a great that way."

Nate ended up getting finance books from the Taylors. Matt took some comfort in the fact that the Taylors didn't seem to know what to get Nate anymore than Matt did. Gracie gave Nate a watercolor painting of the two of them she had made.

Matt was surprised she'd done such a good job at her age. "Hey, that's not bad," he said. He looked at his in-laws. "You ever thought of putting her in art classes?"

"In second grade?" Coach Taylor asked.

Matt gritted his teeth a little. He wasn't an idiot. He knew how these things worked. "I'm _sure_ they have after school art classes in elementary schools around here."

"We'll look into it," Mrs. Taylor assured him, and he hoped he hadn't come off as grouchy.

"Are we having Christmas brunch or Christmas dinner today?" Coach Taylor asked.

"Well, the kids are all staying one more night, so I'm thinking dinner," Mrs. Taylor answered.

"I'm hungry," Coach Taylor grumbled.

"Well then you can make bacon and eggs for everyone," Mrs. Taylor said testily. She was the only one who get away with talking to him in that tone of voice, Matt thought. "But me? _I'm_ heading back to _bed_."

"Maybe I should join you." Coach's flirtatious smile when he said those words suggested to Matt that another round of embarrassing noises might soon be emitting from the bedroom.

"No!" Matt and Nate half-yelled in unison.

"Uh..." Coach Taylor looked at each of them quizzically.

Julie came to the rescue. "It's just that we want you to fix us breakfast, Dad." She smiled, a smile as wide as the west Texas sky. "Please?"


	43. Talking to Dad

It was mid-afternoon on "early Christmas" at the Taylors' house. Church had been skipped that morning while Tami slumbered, breakfast had been consumed, and board games had been played with Gracie.

Julie was now sitting in her father's strangely vacated recliner because Coach Taylor and Nate were next to one another on the couch and watching the TV above the fireplace, which, of course, was lit up by a football game. Matt sat slumped in the arm chair. Gracie was on her father's lap, her arms around his neck, napping against his chest, sleeping off a Christmas candy sugar crash.

Nate was asking a lot of naïve questions about the game, but Julie's father seemed thrilled that he was showing any interest at all. As father and son continued to chatter about the game, Matt stared off into a corner. Julie caught her husband's eye for a moment and smiled, but he barely smiled back. She slid from the recliner and headed to the kitchen, where her mother was preparing the early Christmas dinner.

[*]

Tami was peeling potatoes when her daughter stepped into the kitchen and said, "Dad's really having a good time with Nate out there."

Julie's tone of voice set off a warning bell within her. Tami put the peeler down and turned to look at her daughter. "Julie, sweetie, I hope you're not jealous of Nate. You know, you're your father's first baby as far as he's concerned. You're his Monkey Noodle."

Julie rolled her eyes and leaned back against the counter. "I'm not jealous, Mom. I like Nate, and I know Dad is trying to connect with him. I get that. And Nate needs that too. He never had a dad, and he has no mom anymore. And the father-son thing is a whole different dynamic than the father-daughter thing anyway."

Tami was a little surprised. She hadn't really expected this level of perception from Julie.

"You know who _is_ jealous though?" Julie asked.

Tami put a hand on the counter and considered the question. "Matt?" she ventured. He had seemed a little sullen the past 24 hours.

"Yeah," Julie agreed. The oven beeped and Tami put the ham inside while Julie continued, "You know…Matt's dad wasn't around, and then he died. But Dad was kind of there for him. And I think Matt, he never _said_ this to me – but I think maybe he sort of hoped he would become the son Dad never had. Only now Dad _has_ a son."

"Oh." Tami put away the pot holder and resumed peeling the potatoes. "I see your point."

"Will you talk to Dad? Please? But don't say _I_ said anything. And don't let Matt know, okay?"

"Of course I will." Tami nodded. "As soon as I finish the last of these potatoes."

"I could help you, you know," Julie told her. "You don't always have to do everything by yourself."

 **[*]**

"Go! Go! Go!" Eric was shouting, half standing, one arm clutching the still amazingly sleeping Gracie. "Damn it!" He sat back down.

Nate shook his head.

"That was a foul." Eric said, turning to his son. "Don't you think so?"

"Oh, yeah," Nate agreed, clearly having no idea if it was or not. "Absolutely."

"Eric, I need you in the kitchen," Tami said from behind the couch.

"I'm watching football, babe."

"I need your help, sweetheart."

"Julie can help. I'm watching football with Nate."

" _Now_ , Coach Taylor."

Eric turned slowly, eyebrow raised, but he deposited Gracie on the couch.

"I can help, Mrs. Taylor," Nate volunteered.

"Me, too," Matt hastened. "What do you need?"

"Thank you, boys, but I just need my husband right now. You two enjoy the game."

When Eric and Tami got to the kitchen, Julie was just drying her hands. She gave her mother a knowing look and scurried out. Eric watched her depart with curiosity. "What's so important, Tami?" he asked. He set the beer he was carrying with him on the counter. "Nate's finally, _finally_ showing some interest, and _you know_ how important it is to me to – "

She put a hand on both his cheeks. " - Shhh! Listen now."

He stepped back from her hands and folded his arms across his chest. He nodded. "A'ight. What is it?"

"Don't forget you have a son-in-law out there too."

"Matt?"

"Yeah." Tami nodded. "That's his name. And he's a little bit jealous of Nate because…you know…Matt respects you. And you've been a father figure to him."

"Matt's a _man,_ now, Tami, with a wife and a career. He's not a jealous little boy who– "

"- Eric, how would _you_ feel in Matt's situation? Think about it. That boy lost his father. A father who was never really there. You're the only father he's got. Do you _realize_ that?"

Eric did appear to think about it.

"And he's been – well, let's face it, Eric. He's been displaced. By Nate."

Eric uncrossed his arms. "A'ight." He nodded. "I'll see to it."

"Really? That's it? You're going to agree with me just like that?'

"Sure," he said. "You're right. Why wouldn't I agree with you?"

"You just want to get back to your game, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. But I'm sure you're also right. As usual." He stepped forward and kissed her forehead. "You're good at this stuff, babe. You see things I don't see. That's why I need you. Reason sixty of six hundred."

She smiled weakly. "Actually, I didn't _entirely_ see it on my own. Julie had to bring it up. I'm slipping, sugar. I'm slipping."

"Nah, you still got it."

She shook her head, walked over to the counter, and picked up a knife to cut in half the potatoes Julie had finished peeling. "Slipping," she muttered. "I'm horrible not to have noticed it. _Horrible_."

"Mmmhmmm," he said coming up behind her. "You're pretty bad," he whispered, his breath ticklish on her neck, "but don't worry, I'll punish you later." He spanked her lightly.

She squealed in surprise. "Be careful, hon. I've got a sharp instrument."

"So do I."

She groaned.

"Hey, you set it up." He turned and grabbed his beer from the opposite counter. "You can't blame me when you set it up."

He left her standing in the kitchen, where she chuckled, shook her head, and sliced the potatoes.


	44. Merry Christmas

**A/N:** This will be my last chapter for a while, until I regroup and decide where else to go with this story. However, I feel like this is a good stopping point for now. I'll regroup and hope to return with more to this story sometime in the new year. In the meantime, enjoy this "last chapter for now" chapter, and please comment!

 **[*]**

"So," Nate said as Coach Taylor sat back on the couch, "I don't understand why the quarterback does it like that." He pointed to the screen. "You know when he - "

"- Well, Matt could explain it to you," Coach Taylor interrupted, glancing at his son-in-law. "You know Matty was an excellent quarterback."

Matt smiled slightly. "Well, I was pretty mediocre, you know I just…had a good coach."

"Oh, no, see," Coach Taylor pointed to Matt, "this guy here had the most important thing you need in a quarterback, which is not skill. Skill's important, but what you _really_ need is heart. And he had heart. Still does, but he puts that in his art now." He turned to Nate. "You saw that painting in my office at Pemberton, didn't you?" Nate nodded. "Fantastic, wasn't it? See, the thing about Matt is that he has the rare ability to combine…"

 **[*]**

Tami had just brought the potatoes to a boil when Julie came back into the kitchen. "Dad really listens to you," she said.

"Sometimes."

"I don't think Matt listens to me like that. If I told him he should do something, sometimes I think he'd intentionally do the opposite."

"Well, men are like that sometimes," Tami said, wiping her hands on a towel. "They don't like to be told what to do. But your dad and I have been married a long time now. I know when I need to be direct with him, and when I need to…" she smiled, "lead him a little more subtly." She straightened the towel. "And this was one of those direct times."

Julie slid her hands into the back pocket of her jeans. "How long does it take to learn all that?"

"Oh…only about fifteen years."

[*]

After dinner, Eric asked Matt to come outside and toss the football for a bit in the backyard. Their hands got cold quickly, and Matt muttered they should go in, but that wasn't really why Eric had asked the boy outside in the first place. He put a staying hand on Matt's shoulder, and the young man paused with his foot on the first step leading up to the back porch. "Let's light the fire pit," Eric said. "Warm up our hands before we go in."

Matt looked reluctant, but he stepped down and back to the yard.

They turned the chairs to the pit, and held their hands over the fire. "You haven't lost it," Eric said. "I can't catch like that anymore."

Matt grinned. "You're a bit older than me."

"Yeah." Eric swiveled his arm as though stretching his shoulder. "Throwing makes me hurt after a while. I'm going to have to take a handful of asprin tonight. Not sure how these 70 year old guys keep coaching."

"They don't run up and down the sidelines like you do. And they don't get in there. You'll be able to do it at 70," Matt assured him.

"I sure hope so. Hope to move up to the number two position at Temple by the time I'm 55." He'd told the entire family at dinner about his offer. "Then maybe head coach at some college by the time I'm 65."

"You ever plan to retire?"

"Sure. At 85," he said, and Matt chuckled. "How is your art career coming along?" Eric only meant to show interest in Matt's career, but the kid frowned.

"Not as well as your football career, let's just say. I hardly sell anything," Matt admitted. "Nate thinks I should just paint portraits to make money."

"Well, Nate has a financial brain. He's good at what he does, and he's probably right about that money part. But you're good at what _you_ do. You know that, and you should do what you feel is best when it comes to your art. None of us have any idea about that sort of stuff the way you do."

"Nate seemed to think _he_ had an idea."

"You don't like Nate much, do you?" Eric asked, pulling his hands back from the fire and sliding them into his winter jacket.

"I like Nate fine," Matt said. "He's fine. He's a nice guy."

"It's just a little bit strange to you, I guess, him coming into the family like this."

Matt shrugged. "Never guessed you had a son, of course."

Eric didn't know quite how to say the next thing. So he fell silent for a while. "I've had a son for a long time," he said at last, quietly.

"Yeah. You just didn't know he existed."

"That's not what I meant, Matt. I've had son for, oh, eight or nine years. You. You've been like a son to me ever since you started dating Julie. Maybe before. And you became more like one over time."

Matt shifted in his chair and looked at the ground.

"And I'm proud to have you as my son-in-law. If I could have handpicked a guy to marry my daughter…well, I think it would have been you."

Matt snorted. "The guy you had to take home drunk from the hospital and throw in the shower? The guy who left her for art school? _That's_ the guy you would have handpicked?"

"No, not that guy. But the guy who proved he was responsible and that he had family feeling by taking care of his grandmother, even when it cost him his own plans to do it. The guy who loved my girl enough and was humble enough to give her a second chance even after she tossed him aside. The guy who was honorable enough that he never pressured my daughter for sex, but encouraged her to move at her own pace."

Matt flushed red.

"Yeah, I know about that," Eric said. He had hated finding the two of them together, but at least he knew Julie got there on her own timeline.

Matt crossed his leg over his knee and didn't look at his father-in-law.

"You're a good man, Matt. You've made some mistakes in your life, but haven't we all? Mine have been a lot worse than yours. But I tried to make amends."

"Seems you did," Matt said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess so." He jerked his head back to the house. "Think my wife's got that hot, mulled wine ready?"

"Let's go see."

As he followed his son-in-law up the stairs, Eric felt a merriness warm his heart. When he'd moved to Pennsylvania, he'd done so dutifully, for the love of his wife and to support her in her dream. He'd never expected to discover a son, to be handed a prestigious job at Temple University, or to grow closer to his entire family. The road to this Merry Christmas had not been an easy one, but nothing good in life came without effort.

He let his hand fall on Matt's shoulder when they reached the screen door. "Merry Christmas, son," he said, and Matt grinned.


End file.
